Can only be described as thus: BUNNIES. FLUFF. BUNNIES AND FLUFF. PWP, and by that I mean, PORN, WHAT PORN? OH GOD. BUNNIES. FLUFFY LITTLE BABY BUNNIES. + MERLIN. !

Written for merlinxarthurlj's fanfic challenge #5, to a picture featuring two itsy, bitsy, fuzzy little baby bunnies. Beta'd by the incredible Rosie.

Fluffy Little Citizens of Camelot

oOo

"Arthur," Merlin attempts. "You can't. You couldn't possibly. Nobody is that heartless. Well, maybe your father—"

Arthur swats at him without malice, more on principle than anything else. Merlin won't be distracted, though.

"Just look at their wee little faces," he says, bottom lip jutting out pathetically. "Look at those innocent, protuberant eyes."

They are bent over a small ridge in the muddy dirt, peering down into a depression in the long grass. The little rodents huddle together, terrified. One of their noses twitches.

"They're bunnies, Arthur," Merlin persists when Arthur doesn't say anything, just roughly rips the arrowhead out of the dead rabbit in his hands. "Baby bunnies. You couldn't possibly."

Arthur pops the arrow wordlessly back into his quiver, slinging the bow over his back, and makes to hand the carcass to Merlin. But Merlin has moved down to the small depression, and picks up the tamest of the young rabbits. Arthur drops the carcass on the ground, pulls a dagger out of his belt and holds his empty hand out to Merlin.

Merlin recoils, looking horrified, and draws the bunny in close to his chest. "You killed their mum," he accuses. "You are going to eat her. Which, by default, makes you responsible for their welfare."

He gives Arthur what he probably thinks is a stern look—it makes his lips purse and cheeks bulge out, and his ridiculous ears look even more enormous than usual.

"Merlin," he says, hand still extended, the dagger poised ready in the other. "I swear I will hunt down every single baby bunny in this forest and make a cape out of them."

"Don't listen to him," Merlin whispers into his hands; the rabbit's so small it's hidden beneath his long fingers and the folds of his neckerchief. He looks up to scowl at his prince. "How could you harm this face?"

He holds the bunny up for demonstration, one hand grasping at its shoulders, the other hand cupped protectively under its fluffy little arse. It ogles at Arthur, huge black eyes watery and pleading.

It trembles.

Merlin, peering hopefully over the bunny's head, is giving him the same watery eyes, albeit to less appealing effect.

"For Mercy's sake," Arthur says, sheathing the dagger. "Fine. Leave them there, then. They'll be eaten by something within the hour, anyway."

"Leave them?" Arthur has already retrieved the carcass and is walking back towards camp. After a moment, he hears Merlin shuffling to catch up. "We can't just leave them, they're so—well, pathetic, really."

"You've all got something in common, then," Arthur calls over his shoulder. He drops by the fire and begins cleaning the carcass. He absorbs himself in his task, working quickly, and it's because of this that he doesn't notice Merlin on his bedroll until after he's hoisted the cleaned rabbit over the fire.

"Merlin," he says tiredly. "What on earth—"

Merlin looks up from the bedroll; he's taken off his navy neckerchief and made the two orphaned rodents a makeshift nest out of it. He grins brilliantly up at Arthur.

"I've named them!" he announces, and Arthur groans. He holds up the grey one, the one he picked up before. "Arthur, Gertrude. Gertrude, Arthur. This here's Cudbert," he continues, pointing to the white lump currently burrowing under his neckerchief in terror. "He's a bit shy."

"Might have something to do with the fact that he can smell the flesh of his dam roasting over the fire," Arthur points out, stretching out on the dirt beside the bedroll. He gives the exposed white backside an experimental prod with his fingertip.

It quivers.

Merlin levels a reproachful look at him before bringing Gertrude—oh, lord, he's naming them in his head, now—to his face and saying, "Don't listen to him, Gerty. He's a heartless swine. I'll protect you."

"They will make an excellent snack on our way back to Camelot," Arthur adds.

"Can't eat them now," Merlin tells him, putting Gertrude back down to join her quivering brother. "They have names. Now they're pets."

"D'you know what happens to the horses when a patrol gets trapped in a blizzard?"

Merlin stares at him, horrified. "You would eat your horse?" he demands, scandalised. He looks back over to the other side of the fire where the horses are tethered and calls out, "Are you lot listening to this? Run, while you can! I'll distract him!"

"Only mad people talk to animals, Merlin."

Merlin gives him a funny look, the set of his mouth suddenly more serious.

"Only cruel, heartless prats threaten to murder fluffy baby bunnies," he says finally, smirk reappearing. "Oh, come on, Arthur. Admit it. They are kind of ridiculously adorable."

Arthur leans over and looks down, the two of them forming a protective wall around the bunnies, which have nestled comfortably in the fabric of the blue kerchief. Cudbert is lying on his side, his sister beside him with her paws in the air, their eyes tightly closed against the strange predators peering down at them.

"Look at their little paws," Merlin whispers. He is biting his lip as he peers down at them, his face only a few inches away.

"You're ridiculous," Arthur informs him. "Fine, yes. They're adorable. Adorable little snacks," he adds, as Merlin breaks out in a grin.

When the meat is done, Merlin eats the rabbit, claiming hunger—though only after checking that Gertrude and Cudbert are safely tucked under his neckerchief, fast asleep and safe from any more adolescent trauma. He looks odd without the garment on, his tunic left untied and messy, revealing a bony collarbone and pale chest beneath.

"You should apologise," Merlin says as they settle down.

Without the fire, the spring night is suddenly cold. Merlin is worried about the bunnies, because he is an idiot but mostly because he knows it annoys Arthur, who has been coerced into sharing his bedroll so the baby bunnies may stay safely warm between them. It is his responsibility, didn't he know, since he's eaten their nice warm mum and it is his duty to protect them, as they are technically little fluffy citizens of Camelot.

Arthur, lying on his side facing in, levels a look at Merlin. "I'm not apologising to a rodent."

"Someday," Merlin says, rolling likewise onto his side, "when the bunnies grow up big and strong, they will seek their revenge. Then you'll see. Camelot will fall to their fluffy revolt. And it will be all your fault."

The little bundle between their chests stirs, as if inspired by this impromptu prophecy.

Merlin grins at him. "See? Even now, they plot."

"Even more reason to eat them."

"You can't just go around murdering innocent fluffy animals for no reason. The people will begin to wonder."

"You just said they were plotting. That means they're guilty of treason."

"They're being driven mad by their thirst for vengeance," Merlin says knowledgeably. Arthur really has no idea how he manages to maintain a straight face through all of this. "If only you'd apologised."

"If I apologise," Arthur says tiredly, "will you shut up so I can go to sleep?"

Merlin closes his mouth obediently and, rolling his eyes, Arthur looks down at the two lumps in the blue fabric wedged between them. "I'm sorry for eating your mum," he says. "If it's any consolation, she was very tasty."

"Such a prat!" Merlin laughs and makes to swat him, but Arthur catches his elbow before he can, raising a finger to his own lips.

"Shh," Arthur admonishes, casting a meaningful glance at the bundle. "You'll wake them."

Merlin makes a face but stops trying to hit him. He lowers his arm, curling it protectively around the bundle. Smirk fading into something softer, Arthur follows his arm with his own and joins them there, hand resting lightly on Merlin's forearm.

"There," he says, "the great fluffy revolt has been quelled, and the baby bunnies are hogging my bedroll. Happy now?"

Merlin lays his head down and smiles at him, making his chest warm, because it's one of those real smiles bordering on fondness and respect that Arthur usually only sees right before they're about to die.

"Yeah," he says, "I'm happy."

oOo

Arthur wakes up to his nose itching. Two gigantic, black eyes peer back at him.

He gets his knife in hand just as Merlin yells, "Arthur, no, it's only Cudbert!" and Arthur throws the knife at Merlin instead.

"I said to keep that horrible thing out of my room," Arthur grumbles, sitting up in his bed. He sniffs his sheets; they smell like rabbit. "The next time I find it in here, I'm feeding it to the dogs."

"He's really taken to you," Merlin says, ignoring the threat. Arthur has been making these threats for two months now, increasingly often as the rabbits have steadily quadrupled in size and Cudbert, specifically, has taken a more personal interest in him. "I put him in his box every night with Gertrude, but he's an escape artist! He really wants to sleep with you."

"You should get him his own cage," Arthur says mindlessly. "I won't have rabbit incest occurring in my castle."

Merlin makes a show of covering Cudbert's ears with his hands, giving Arthur a reproachful look as he stuffs the fluffy white beast into Arthur's trunk for safekeeping.

"He's too young for that kind of talk," Merlin admonishes, handing Arthur a tunic. "You're going to pervert his innocent little mind."

As Arthur reaches for his shirt, his fingers miss Merlin's clumsy shove and brush the inside of his elbow. Merlin nearly stumbles onto the bed; Arthur catches him by the shoulder and the wrist, gently, holding him up while sighing in exasperation.

Merlin also smells like rabbit. His entire room smells like rabbit. Give it another month, he reckons, and the entire castle will smell like rabbit.

Above him, Merlin makes a weird sound in his throat. This may have something to do with the fact that Arthur has yet to release him. Some part of his sleepy subconscious doesn't want to, wants to hold on to that smile, that warmth, that stupid smell.

Arthur's eyes follow the line of Merlin's throat as he swallows, fingers flexing against the grip on his wrist. He hasn't tried to pull away, he hasn't moved at all; it's as if they're both frozen in time here, Arthur's hands holding him up, Merlin's free hand splayed accidentally on Arthur's thigh.

In the trunk at the foot of the bed, there is a small scuffle, like a Cudbert investigating the dietary merits of the leather vests inside.

The tangle of sheets is warm, too warm, and when Merlin gasps Arthur's name into his mouth, body seizing beneath him, Arthur collapses against his side, twisting under the sheets. They stick to him, and Merlin sticks to him, everything is so sticky and the smell of rabbit has been replaced by the musty smell of sweat and sex and he'd be completely horrified and demanding a bath if he didn't feel so incredibly boneless.

Beside him, Merlin lets out a breathless little laugh. "Shit," he says. "We didn't even bar the door."

"Good thing you put Cudbert away."

"Cudbert!" Merlin, somehow, sits up and manages to look scandalised—now, after the fact, not because he's naked in bed with the prince but because Cudbert's innocence is at stake.

He makes to leave the bed, but Arthur catches him around the waist and pulls Merlin's back up against his chest, stickiness be damned.

"Cudbert's fine," he says, breath ghosting over the slick curve of Merlin's neck, the pale flesh there boasting an impressive bruise. "Wouldn't want to further corrupt his innocence by retrieving him starkers, would you?"

Merlin stills, effectively melting between him and the covers. "He was bound to figure it out one of these days," he says sadly. "I suppose I should ask Gwen to have a word with Gertrude."

"Merlin," Arthur says, nose buried deep in his hair, by his ear.

"Mm?"

"Shut up."

o fin o