why do i have this feeling that merlin is hiding behind a tapestry and going, "OH MY GOD I HAVE TO GET OUT RIGHT NOW. except that arthur could be in danger! and i have to protect him! but OH MY GOD I AM TOO YOUNG TO WATCH THIS"?
there are scars on peter. not like the ones arthur has, from training and boyhood fights and exhibition fighting, but from real combat, like the ones uther and his knights have. there's an old scar through his eyebrow, a deep slash across his stomach (which should have spilled his guts and killed him), claw marks over his heart, the ragged stump of the smallest finger on his left hand, a deep gouge the length of arthur's hand on his thigh, teardrop shaped burn marks in a fan across his back. arthur runs his hands up them, wondering a little at their origin (just a boy, how in god's name does anyone so young get wounds like that?), and then peter scrapes his teeth lightly across arthur's neck.
"surprised?" he says.
"no," arthur lies. "nothing about you surprises me."
"if you want to be king, you'll have to become a better liar," peter says, grinning like the thought amuses him.
"don't be --"
peter's hand drops from his hip somewhere lower, and arthur draws in a sharp breath.
"like that?"
"no," he lies.
"too fast. let the question sink in," peter says, and lets arthur flip them, still grinning even when arthur settles on his hips.
"what are you, an expert?"
"i'm the high king of narnia."
"you're crazy."
"if you really think you're the first person to say that to me, you're sadly mistaken."
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there are scars on peter. not like the ones arthur has, from training and boyhood fights and exhibition fighting, but from real combat, like the ones uther and his knights have. there's an old scar through his eyebrow, a deep slash across his stomach (which should have spilled his guts and killed him), claw marks over his heart, the ragged stump of the smallest finger on his left hand, a deep gouge the length of arthur's hand on his thigh, teardrop shaped burn marks in a fan across his back. arthur runs his hands up them, wondering a little at their origin (just a boy, how in god's name does anyone so young get wounds like that?), and then peter scrapes his teeth lightly across arthur's neck.
"surprised?" he says.
"no," arthur lies. "nothing about you surprises me."
"if you want to be king, you'll have to become a better liar," peter says, grinning like the thought amuses him.
"don't be --"
peter's hand drops from his hip somewhere lower, and arthur draws in a sharp breath.
"like that?"
"no," he lies.
"too fast. let the question sink in," peter says, and lets arthur flip them, still grinning even when arthur settles on his hips.
"what are you, an expert?"
"i'm the high king of narnia."
"you're crazy."
"if you really think you're the first person to say that to me, you're sadly mistaken."