A/N: So, I read about the idea of a Merlin themed Kissing Booth AU, however the only Kissing Booth's I have ever seen were at Ren-Faires. Either way, I got inspired and somehow wrote a several page FanFiction for the cause. I have never written something like this before, but it was interesting, and fun.

I don't have a beta, so if while reading you come across a mistake, or see any kind of error, message me, put it in a review, shout it as loud as you can and hope I'm secretly your next door neighbor, anything is cool.

So, enjoy!

Merlin twiddled his thumbs delicately as he arched his neck to peer through the open gap of his booth. Taking a sharp glance left and right to check for possible customers, and finding there to be none, the kissing booth operator slumped back into his poorly embroidered, velvet cushioned chair. Exaggeratingly long minutes passed as humid, heated, sleep inducing air intoxicated Merlin through his skin and lungs. Beads of sweat, small and fragile gathered at the base of his neck, almost reaching his cheaply made, medieval-themed tunic.

Bored, and growing irritable from heat and lack of companionship, Merlin focused all his mental power, willing a customer to arrive. At last, after many more heat inflicted moments, Merlin opened his eyes, and miracle of miracles, someone had paused. It was an extended pause, a ways away from the booth. The kind of pause where one attempts to read a sign, or browse, without making any unwanted commitments due to a vendor's manipulative conversation. Merlin watched the possible customers eyes dart back and forth over the hanging sign which explained the rules of the booth.

Merlin's eyes took in-surreptitious travels up and down the man's body, absorbing his features into his memory. The man was about Merlin's height, a fair medium, but far more built, his triceps showing in accentuated fashion through his form fitting knight costume with every flex of his arms. Lightning and crème blended hair, slightly damp from sweat, with bangs dipping just over his high forehead, framed the man's stoic features which Merlin could only describe as chiseled everything. Sharp blue eyes, a nose that must have been broken once or twice, arched eyebrows, and lightly defined cheek bones all came together to showcase the apex of his face: His pastel pink mouth, with a too full bottom lip.

Grinning with a look of finality on his face, Chiseled-Everything began the less than arduous stroll towards Merlin's booth, never taking his eyes of the sign. Merlin, unexpectedly, had the vague notion that his enjoyment of this man would abruptly end should this man choose to open his mouth.

"Do I have to kiss you?"

Yup. Vague feeling utterly accurate.

"What?"

Chiseled-Everything skimmed the large boards with targets, painted in chipping red and white paint, which were next to Merlin's booth.

"I came to this faire specifically so I could throw any sharp object I pleased at various targets. Yet every booth designed for these purposes was either surrounded by crowds of people, or cost so much money I might as well have bought my own knives and board." The man paused to reference the sign. "Your rules for this booth include paying an adequate sum to throw things. I know it's 'hit the bull's-eye, get the prize' but, I just want to throw things; I don't want the kiss."

The blond man's eyes at last found their way to Merlin. He seemed to have meant only to glance at Merlin, but upon actually seeing the booth operator, the glimpse turned into a peculiar stare. A non-committal 'hmm' hummed out from the back of the man's throat. Eventually regaining his composure, Chiseled-Everything straightened his posture.

"Well." It was a demand, not a question. Merlin though befuddled by the man's request and contrasting actions, found himself nodding in agreement.

"Yeah, alright. Still getting paid, I suppose. Throwing knives are to your right and the targets are-"

"I can see the targets."

Rude.

"Well then I guess you're all set, my friend. Do you know how to throw?" Merlin's question was answered in the form of an exasperated expression and a conceited guttural noise as the man, un-looking, handed Merlin the respective amount of money. "Right. Well, fire away."

Merlin poked his head once more out of his booth's gap, twisting his neck to see the man, and the target, his lean, pale arms resting on the counter of the booth.

Thwack!

"Ha!" Merlin's abrupt laughter rang out in the deserted area. The single, elegantly rusted knife which had just been thrown had found its way to the board, but was cheerfully resting on the outskirts of the target, nowhere near its intended mark. Chiseled-Everything glared first at the hateful knife, then at the booth operator.

"You put me off."

"Put you-I was standing over here!" Merlin cried indignantly.

"You're… staring. It's putting too much pressure on me."

"It's my job to stare. I have to make sure you don't get yourself, or someone else killed." The blond snorted at the words, and then extended his arms out wide.

"There's no one else here!" He shouted. "There is no one I could possibly hit anywhere in range. Unless you're thinking I'm gonna start chucking it fifty feet to where the actual hoards of people are!"

Prat.

"I'm here."

"I recon you'd notice if I tried to chuck a dagger at you."

"Yeah. Because I'm watching. Now throw your knives." For a moment, Merlin almost believed Chiseled-Everything was going to legitimately chuck the knife at him. Instead, however, the man, his back now blotted with sweat patches from standing in the sweltering sunlight, chose to hurl it towards the target.

Thwack!

Almost center.

Merlin could feel the look of pomp on the man's face before he even turned to look at him. A knowing, conceited smirk, which could claim reign over every person at the faire, was the simplest way to describe the look of pure delight on the man's face as he turned to show Merlin his satisfaction.

"So my staring wasn't what was throwing you off." The blond man's expression changed so quickly Merlin believed briefly that time had paused momentarily for everyone except the man before him, as that could have been the only reasonable explanation for the rapid change in facial structure.

"They pay you to be insulting?"

"No sir, you do." Merlin raised the handful of dollars which the man had speedily placed in his hands minutes earlier. Chiseled-Everything's eyes rolled so far into the back of his head his pupils disappeared, and all Merlin could see what the white of his eyes.

"What's your name?" The man called out abruptly, just as he was about to raise his third, and final weapon.

"Merlin," was the chaste answer the man received.

"Like the bird?"

"No, like the fish." Sarcasm flooded Merlin's words as they reached his lips, and poured out into the scathing pool of the other man's supercilious commentary. The man looked shocked, yet almost amused.

"I'm a paying customer; you cannot speak to me in that way." The light chuckle that accompanied his words was unintentional, and greatly altered the intended effect upon their being received.

Merlin bit his bottom lip to hold back the smile, and he had turned to pretend to do something of relative importance in his booth when he heard a sharp laugh strike the sweat inducing air. Merlin whirled himself around to find the man bent over a shoddily painted post.

"Like the fish!" For some ridiculous reason, the man found great humor in the words. "You mean a marlin?"

Then, for another ridiculous reason, Merlin was laughing too, assuming both of them were the latest victims of heat stroke. Fleeting moments passed where neither could get out a word without breaking into breathless laughter.

When the moment had passed both men stood in their places, for in the moments after their fit, they could think of nothing more to say to one another.

Thwack.

Chiseled-Everything has thrown the last knife. Merlin poked his head round the bend once more to stare at the target. The dagger rested in the dead center of the target. The blond man, stranger, really, then turned to Merlin.

"Well. That's all I'm here to do." Then he turned, and walked off towards whatever direction the nearest form of entertainment seemed to be, without saying anything else.

Ass.

Merlin sat back down in his creaking chair, in the humid, suffocating air of his booth, and took a deep breath. He had had his moment of good times for the day, but that seemed over. Arrogant as he was, Merlin had been quite close to liking him, whoever he was. He wished he had asked him his name, though Chiseled-Everything was a fairly accurate title nonetheless.

"Oh, to Hell with it!" The booth operator suddenly heard someone's voice, the crunch of gravel under a moving person's feet, before raising himself to see the blond man coming back. Before he could object, or make any sound at all, the man reached in, grabbed Merlin by the shirt and closed the gap between them.

It was two chaste kisses before their lips locked, Merlin's hand crawling up the side of the man's face to finally get lost in the tangle of vanilla hair. The other man's right hand still gripped Merlin's shirt, while his left rested firmly on the base of Merlin's neck, pulling the two closer together. Merlin could hear the other man's breathing; feel his hot breath against his cheek. Both faces titled and shifted in opposite directions, trying to get the most out of the experience, trying to pull themselves even closer.

After moments of heat, the two slowed down. Drifting apart then returning to each other's lips. The two finally pulled away, nose to nose, lips nearly touching, eyes forced to meet one another.

"It's called a kissing booth. Not... that." Merlin found himself stupidly saying. The blond man scoffed, his breath tickling Merlin's now sensitive lips.

"I probably put up with you more than anyone else. Reckon they just threw the knives, and had their way. They didn't have to deal with your attitude." Smiling, and taking a deep breath Merlin pulled further away from the prize-winner.

A blush was colouring Merlin's ears and neck. Arthur said nothing else before walking away. Merlin's head poked back up as he walked off, ready to shout at him before he noticed the thin wisp of napkin that had been left on his counter with the name 'Arthur' written in cramped handwriting, accompanied by a phone number.