Anger he smiles towering in shiny metallic purple armor
Queen Jealousy, envy waits behind him
Her fiery green gown sneers at the grassy ground
Blue are the life-giving waters taken for granted
They quietly understand
The once happy turquoise armies lay opposite ready
But wonder why the fight is on

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

The jealously ripped through his chest—his eyes igniting with fire, with anger. He could feel the green monster shattering his ribs, choking his heart, making it cough and stutter. Hands balled into fists, knuckles turned white. His self control was slowly slipping—the animalistic urge to mark his territory, to bare his teeth and growl, to tear the flesh off the hand that was not so innocently caressing a shoulder.

Prince Arthur bit his tongue, knowing it would be unbecoming. He knew that it was illogical, that he shouldn't feel such an attachment, feel such a want, feel such possessiveness over the clumsy manservant. But, the other was bound to him--he was practically his property, his very own puppet, his very own toy. The manservant was his. No one else was allowed to touch him. And he certainly wasn't allowed to give the big blue doe eyes to someone else, wasn't allowed to trace words almost sinfully with that pink, plump mouth. No, this would not do.

He abruptly got up, his chair groaning against the floor, screeching loudly, causing deep blue eyes to find his own icy stare. Concern marred the pale skin, a furrow of a brow, a crinkling of the forehead. A stab of guilt went through him, making his footsteps halt for a moment. He needed to get a hold of himself. He shook his head, going back to his desk, sifting through his papers and ignoring the dulcet tones of laughter, of sweet honey that was being slathered on someone else.

His eyes roamed over the words, but they were all cluttered together. Nothing made sense. His concentration had been shattered, hearing private whispers spoken like some sort of broken promises. His head jerked up quickly, grasping the page of the book roughly. Enough was enough. "Merlin." He said, his voice brimming with anger and authority. The air suddenly was wrought with unease and tension, a hesitant smile placed on pink lips. The clumsy servant took easy steps, his long limbs, his sharp angles jutting out, even underneath his baggy clothes. The world wanted to see him have an early demise.

"Sire?" the meek tone asked, the baby blue eyes staring innocently. Merlin always acted like the innocent, like some damn blushing virgin. And it drove Arthur crazy in so many ways. It made his head dizzy, it made his palms sweat, and it gave him this deep sense to defile him.

"Your trivial conversation is giving me a headache." He said icily, trying to keep his tone neutral, but the anger was washing over him, consuming him.

The blue eyes widened slightly, and the defensive biting remark was on the other's tongue. But it was swallowed quickly, the scowl covered by a mask of indifference. But those expressive eyes told the story. Arthur always secretly liked the other's defiant personality—it was something new, something thrilling. "I am very sorry Sire, I shall take my leave so your head is not filled with such commonly subjects." The words seem concerned and genuine, but the tone was purely Merlin.

"No. You shall stay. You tend to me." Arthur said, punctuating each word ignoring the other figure in the room. If he even set eyes on him, there would be a few bruises to explain. And no one needed to put together that he got all hot and bothered over his lowly awkward manservant—and not even in the good sense.

His words had the gangly servant gaping widely, gaping like a fish—flies could easily fly into that mouth. He raised an eyebrow, making sure the arrogance was blindingly obvious. He was the prince after all and being the prince granted him one or two luxuries, and a very manipulative personality. He did have most of Camelot in the palm of his hand.

"Excuse me? I am no one's property." Merlin said, his words almost coming out as a hiss. Honestly, their time could be better wasted, that mouth could have been put to better use. Arthur felt his whole nerves twitch when his manservant walked over to the other person, standing agonizingly close to him, and speaking in hushed tones. A secret rendezvous perhaps? He had to make sure that the dumb servant would be fired, and perhaps banished from Camelot. It didn't matter if they were talking about some sort banquet detail, or some idle gossip. They were doing it outside his chambers and the touches were far from innocent. And Merlin seemed to be all too oblivious. The other servant was practically undressing him with his eyes, slowly sweeping down the porcelain skin.

He stood up quickly, striding over to his door. He laid a firm hand on the manservant's shoulder, dragging him back slowly. "Do you want another day in the stocks? You are trying my patience." He said honestly, although the threat was truly empty. After some sort of understanding, and this blasted infatuation, he would never harm Merlin.

Merlin bit his lip harshly, his arms suddenly finding refuge at his chest. "Prat." He murmured loudly, before resigning all control and standing there limply. His bottom lip jutted out, making the urge to grasp it between his teeth even more tempting. "Are you pouting?" Arthur questioned in amusement, although he had to swallow thickly, being bombarded by dark emotions clouding bright blue eyes. "Oh come on, Merlin. You can talk to your little peasant lover later."

"Peasant? Is that all you see Arthur? Ranks? Is that all that matters to you? These peasants are decent people, far more decent that the greed that run rampant in nobility. And really, I can't believe-did you say lover? Uh, um, excuse me?" he said finally, his skin turning that delicious red color. Merlin began to stare, opening his mouth, before muttering to himself and rubbing his neck. "He is not my lover." He said, tilting his head in obvious confusion.

Arthur just stared at his manservant. All the women in Camelot would throw themselves at him, would give anything to marry him, would kill to talk to him, and yet he picked some awkward peasant boy who disobeyed him at every turn. He wasn't necessarily handsome—his face was more feminine, his limbs didn't really fit, and his god awful ears that stuck out. And yet, he found no other beauty besides his manservant. And at this moment, rank didn't matter, because he had waited for far too long, had to watch long fingers dress him, had to watch a pink tongue ghost over sinful lips, and had to watch blue eyes shock him. Enough was really enough. Merlin could not deny him, would not deny him. He had not even denied the fact that he was fine with men having their way with one another.

"Good. Because I forbid you from having any lover."

It took two beats.

"I'll have you know, sire, that you do not run my life."

The term of respect was said like it was poison.

"You will see no one else."

Arthur was going to have his way.

"I dare you to try and stop me."

It was a challenge. Arthur would never back down--he had his to keep his pride, his dignity. And besides, the prize was something that was coveted. With a smirk on his lips, he tugged the manservant by the ugly neckerchief that was hiding a long expanse of tempting skin. He covered the full lips easily, pressing roughly against the soft, yet chapped surface. The smug look was still in place when he pulled away, watching the emotions flicker in the other's eyes.

"Uh?" was the only thing that could spill from Merlin's mouth. It seemed the kiss had rendered him incoherent.

"You will see no one else." he punctuated again, his lips dangerously close to the other's, wanting nothing more than to plunge into the cavern, to see what those lips could really do.

But, his plans came crashing down when his manservant began laughing. He could feel the blow to his ego, the guns blasting at his achievement, his good mood. "Why, pray tell, are you laughing?"

The pink lips burst into that ridiculous smile—the one that made Arthur fall to his knees every time.

"You were jealous." Merlin stated, the laugh still rumbling through his chest, echoing into the air.

Arthur felt oddly vulnerable; it was as though the other could read him easily, as though he had wiggled inside his brain and now resided there. It made him feel naked, as though only Merlin could piece through his armor, could see the real him. Merlin had suddenly become the only one who could pry these unnatural and complete human reactions out of him. Somehow, the other had made him whole, had made him become more than just a prince. And he felt comfortable knowing that the other would be beside him, that he was a silent encouragement.

"I was not." He simply retorted, knowing it sounded childish.

"Were too."

"Would you care to muck out the stables, Merlin?" he said, a ghost of a smile on his lips. The familiar banter was always invigorating.

"I don't know. The stable boy is sort of attractive."

"Don't." he said, his tone dangerous, almost brutal.

Merlin couldn't help but laugh again, but then planted an innocent kiss on the prince's lips, just a mere linger, a light brush. His skin splotched with pink again, and Arthur smiled stupidly.

All was well in Camelot.

Although, Camelot was missing one of its servants. No one knows what happened to that nameless peasant.

So, yeah. What did you think?

I recently had inspiration to write. Sorry if it's utter crap.