Merthur One-shots

Blossom Fever

SMUT WARNING

Summary: It’s autumn, but the glade is in the midst of high summer. There’s magic in the air, and something more potent in the delicate flowers hanging from the vines. Something that makes Merlin sear with heat and desire.

Something that only Arthur can ease.

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It is late noon by the time they reach the outskirts of the forest, the sun filtering weakly through sparse branches as the frost crunches beneath their horse’s hooves. The tall pines slope gently downhill, looming over them.

“Is this it?” Merlin asks, glancing tentatively at Arthur.

“Of course it is, Merlin,” Arthur says. “Just because you can’t read a map doesn’t mean the rest of us are useless.” He shoots Merlin a grin, searching for a rise. Merlin gives him a disgruntled look, spurring his horse forward, and Arthur does the same behind him, their horses picking their way carefully over gnarled tree roots.

“I can’t see any signs of these bandits,” Arthur says. Merlin turns to look at him as they stop again. The trees have thickened and the darkness of the forest wraps around the two of them, the breath from their horse’s noses misting. “Can you try using your magic?”

“So I’m not useless, now?” Merlin retorts. He angles his chin forward and his eyes turn a brilliant gold, his head jerking sharply as he follows the sight of a trail that isn’t really there. Arthur fidgets in his saddle; Merlin knows he still isn’t used to not running to tell his father when he sees someone’s eyes flash with magic, and the way Merlin shifts and reacts to the empty air in front of him must look strange. “Oh,” Merlin says, the light fading from his eyes as he straightens up again.

“Oh?”

Merlin squints into the thick trees. “There’s something up ahead. I’m not sure it’s bandits, it feels like… more. Like magic,” he says, turning to Arthur.

“Like, other sorcerers?” Arthur tries his best to keep the bite out of the word, but Merlin appreciates the attempt.

Shaking his head, Merlin lowers his hands. “No. Not people. It feels deeper, somehow. Like the earth itself.”

Arthur’s hand subconsciously goes to the hilt of his sword. “Let’s go look. Maybe the bandits are searching for the source of it.”

The forest swallows up the sound of the horses and Arthur’s armour as they move forward. “Look,” Merlin whispers, but he knows Arthur will have seen it too, the way the sunlight bleeds through the trees ahead of them. “I thought the forest was miles deep?”

“So did I.”

The frost gives way to a carpet of pine needles, which then gives way to grass with trees of oak and birch surrounding them. “Gods,” Arthur says as they emerge into a shaft of light, surrounded by the lush greenery of a summer meadow in full bloom. Insects buzz lazily through the air, catching the light, and the breeze carries the sweet smell of peaches and summer blossoms. “It’s… warm?”

“Listen,” Merlin breathes, a grin breaking over his face. Birds warble to each other in the trees over their heads, and a bright blue sky is visible beyond the canopy of leaves. A deep brook bubbles away in front of them, shaded by a willow tree, its branches sweeping gently across the water. “I can feel the magic,” Merlin says, smiling at Arthur. It thrums in his veins, and makes him slide down from his saddle, pulling him towards a tree to press his hand to the bark. It seems to almost hum underneath his touch, resonating through him. “Arthur, this place is…”