It eventually came to a quarrel - it always did. Even as Arthur was walking with her down the corridor to his chambers, smugly listing all the things he could do that she couldn’t, she just strode gracefully beside him with a serene smile on her face.
“If you’re quite finished,” she told him, “there’s something I can do better than you can, and it’s something you really couldn’t accept being inferior at.”
Because apparently she thought he was deeply concerned with how good he was at having his hair brushed. “And what’s that?”
She smiled a wily little smile up at him. “I’m a better kisser than you are.”
He tripped over his own feet and she laughed.
“You are not,” he managed, once he had re-gathered some dignity and caught up with her.
“Oh, really?”
“Yes, really.”
“You’re willing to put it to the test, are you?”
“Absolutely,” he said. He was pretty sure that the reason he could feel his heart swinging against his throat like a cudgel was fury.
She smirked and swept past him into his rooms, all smooth silk and ruby lips and long dark hair, and he was definitely totally absolutely sure it was fury.
He walked in after her and dropped his sword in shock. She was kissing Merlin. Merlin, who was still holding an oil rag he’d been using to go over one of Arthur’s jackets, who was standing with his limbs akimbo in shock, who was turning red starting with his ears and spreading all over his face, who was kissing Morgana and it wasn’t fair.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Arthur sputtered.
Merlin, predictably, fell over. Morgana just smirked at Arthur over her shoulder. “Well, I could hardly kiss you, could I? We need an objective judge.” Merlin was picking himself up and looking as if he wasn’t sure whether to be more terrified of finding out what was going on or being left in the dark. Morgana gestured toward him and smirked at Arthur. “Your turn.”
Arthur met Merlin’s eyes just as the implication sank in for both of them. “Morgana! No!”
Her grin widened. “You concede, then?”
“No! But all this proves is that you’re better at kissing men.” He glanced at Merlin. “And I use that word loosely. Very loosely. If we were competing to see who was better at kissing women, I would win!”
Morgana didn’t even pause, she just strode to the door and stuck her head into the hallway. “Gwen? Gwen! Could you come here, please?”
Arthur was pretty sure, whoever the better kisser turned out to be, that he had already lost.
merlin - arthur/morgana (+ kind of ot4) - objectivity (2/2)
“If you’re quite finished,” she told him, “there’s something I can do better than you can, and it’s something you really couldn’t accept being inferior at.”
Because apparently she thought he was deeply concerned with how good he was at having his hair brushed. “And what’s that?”
She smiled a wily little smile up at him. “I’m a better kisser than you are.”
He tripped over his own feet and she laughed.
“You are not,” he managed, once he had re-gathered some dignity and caught up with her.
“Oh, really?”
“Yes, really.”
“You’re willing to put it to the test, are you?”
“Absolutely,” he said. He was pretty sure that the reason he could feel his heart swinging against his throat like a cudgel was fury.
She smirked and swept past him into his rooms, all smooth silk and ruby lips and long dark hair, and he was definitely totally absolutely sure it was fury.
He walked in after her and dropped his sword in shock. She was kissing Merlin. Merlin, who was still holding an oil rag he’d been using to go over one of Arthur’s jackets, who was standing with his limbs akimbo in shock, who was turning red starting with his ears and spreading all over his face, who was kissing Morgana and it wasn’t fair.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Arthur sputtered.
Merlin, predictably, fell over. Morgana just smirked at Arthur over her shoulder. “Well, I could hardly kiss you, could I? We need an objective judge.” Merlin was picking himself up and looking as if he wasn’t sure whether to be more terrified of finding out what was going on or being left in the dark. Morgana gestured toward him and smirked at Arthur. “Your turn.”
Arthur met Merlin’s eyes just as the implication sank in for both of them. “Morgana! No!”
Her grin widened. “You concede, then?”
“No! But all this proves is that you’re better at kissing men.” He glanced at Merlin. “And I use that word loosely. Very loosely. If we were competing to see who was better at kissing women, I would win!”
Morgana didn’t even pause, she just strode to the door and stuck her head into the hallway. “Gwen? Gwen! Could you come here, please?”
Arthur was pretty sure, whoever the better kisser turned out to be, that he had already lost.