Camelot_Drabble

tygermine

Arthur had a mug in his kitchen cupboard.

To anyone else, it looked like any other mug in his collection. It was a gaudy tourist mug with a cartoon of the beach and the name Barcelona emblazoned across it.

He had dug the mug out of a box of the things that belonged to his mother and he liked that it was in the cupboard, part of his daily life like he wished she was.

The problem was, when it came to guests, unaware of the importance of the mug, would use it when they made tea the morning after a rather acrobatic evening.

Despite the adrenaline shooting through his veins in the panic that overtook him when he saw his mother’s mug in the hands of someone else, he couldn’t bring himself to protest, because that would mean he’d have to explain and that would lead to pity and Arthur was not someone who wanted pity from anyone.

So imagine his surprise when it was only later, after Merlin had left, neck covered in hickies when he was doing the dishes, that he realised Merlin had used the mug and Arthur hadn’t even noticed.

Was it because Merlin’s eyes kept distracting him? Was he too fucked out to care?

Or could it be that his mother comforted his subconscious by showing Arthur that Merlin had her permission to be there?

To stay.