(A) Morning Misuse (of magic)

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Merlin has an awful, terrible habit that Arthur thinks will be the end of him one of these precious, precious mornings when he is still half-asleep and does not wish to be disturbed or pulled any further out of his slumber just yet. And when he is more awake, Arthur is certain that it is less an idle habit, as Merlin would have him believe it is, and more him being a dollophead who finds himself more amusing than Arthur finds him in those moments.

Just as Arthur thinks that, just as he is anticipating it, Merlin's ice-cold fingers find their way to Arthur's chest, and trail and dance over it, tracing patterns and nothings into his skin, bumps rising in their wake, and a shiver races down Arthur's spine.

Merlin swears he doesn't do it on purpose, that he tries to keep his hands off Arthur until they warm up, but oh, Arthur always sees through that lie, always knows that his words are insincere; the amused smile he always has on his face as he says it gives him away. And Arthur would have no problem with Merlin touching him first thing in the morning, but God, his hands are far too damn cold. It's unnatural how cold they are, really, and Arthur has half a mind to accuse Merlin of using magic to make his touch so chilling, just to mess with Arthur, just to get a reaction out of him.

But for now he is too focused on Merlin's fingers themselves to worry any about magic and how involved in this moment it may or may not be.

"Stop," Arthur mumbles, hand moving to grab Merlin's and pull it from his chest. "Too cold," he adds needlessly.

Merlin already knows that. Arthur knows he already knows that. And as his head replaces his hand on Arthur's chest, Arthur can see the smirk that's on his face even though his eyes are still closed as he laces their fingers together. Merlin's cold hand in his own is no more welcome than it was on his chest, but it is better somehow, at least. Somehow.

"Is it?" Merlin mumbles innocently.

Arthur snorts, "Like you don't already know that."

"S'not my fault my hands are cold in the morning."

"If you say so, love."

"You're going to hurt my feelings, you know, if you keep going about accusing me of things like that."

"I didn't accuse you of anything," Arthur replies, taking in a small gasp of air as Merlin squeezes Arthur's hand, and his free one moves under the covers and up his stomach without warning. God. "Your guilty conscience made you jump to that conclusion all on your own—anything you'd like to admit to?"

"Being in love with a prat?" Merlin teases.

"Mm, no, I'm afraid the entire kingdom is already more than well aware of that. Try again," Arthur cracks his eyes open, grin finally firmly on his face despite the coldness Merlin is attempting to distract him with, dragging across his skin still.

"Well, you can't be talking about my magic," Merlin muses thoughtfully, drawing the words out. "Because if you are, next thing you know, you're going to ask me to warm my hands up using it. And that would obviously be a gross misuse of it…"

"Right," Arthur snorts again, moves the hand not firmly in Merlin's chilling grasp to wrap around him, tug him close for a second as he sighs into the morning and the bliss of still being in bed with Merlin, despite the cold being inflicted on certain expanses of his skin. "Because you're completely against gross misuse of your magic and would never use it for anything that isn't completely and totally necessary."

"I'm sensing sarcasm…"

"Are you now?"

Merlin chuckles then, the sign that Arthur has worn him down enough for him to mumble soft words that Arthur doesn't understand in the next moment, but that make Merlin's hands instantly warm against Arthur's skin.

He lets out a comfortable sigh, his entire body tingling with the warm sensation Merlin has sent through him, brings their clasped hands up to his mouth and presses a kiss to the back of Merlin's hand, lips warming against his skin as he lets the action linger for a short moment before he lowers them to ask, "Wasn't so hard, was it?"

Merlin lets out a pleasant, thoughtful enough hum, and says, "I never said it would be hard, I said it would be a gross misuse of my magic."

"Making me happy is a gross misuse of magic?" Arthur asks, teasing as he presses an idle kiss to the top of Merlin's head.

"Well, it's so easy to make you happy without using my magic, you know," he says instead of a real answer.

That thought perks Arthur up enough to make him open his eyes completely, and they shine with amusement as he says, "So make me happy now, then."

Merlin sits up, and Arthur misses the presence of his head on his chest, but God, Merlin's too warm hand is starting to wander south and his lips find Arthur's as he silently fulfills Arthur's request, so he can't be bothered to miss it too terribly.

Just like he can't be bothered to mention yet that Merlin doing anything with his hands while they are still warm with magic will be cheating. He can always bring that up after the fact.

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