Keep to the Battlefields Arthur

His blond hair stuck to his forehead, glued to it by a light layer of sweat. A deep frown obscured his face and his marbled features. His eyes were intense with concentration and focus. 

 

Arthur was well set with a gun, an objective goal and a strategy to figure out and set to use. He was raised a soldier, fighting for, praising and achieving justice. A soldier made for the field. Created to save and protect the people. He was a raised a soldier, not a servant to stand in a fog of steam and flour, fight the tears of onions, and roast meat.

 

Tomato juice, egg white, a mixture of flour and butter, and loads of water dripped from Arthur's sleeves and likewise from his hair, which he somehow had gotten smeared into his failing attempt at preparing dinner. A crushed egg lay on the floor, an egg that Arthur was certain had been put there to assassinate him, having repeatedly caused him to nearly fall on his arse, the egg white and the gallon of water he had somehow spilled before getting the pot onto the stove, being a highly dangerous slippery mixture of death and Arthur's destruction. A layer of flour had given his black shirt a careful drizzle of snow, a wintery landscape stretching across his toned chest. 

 

At the moment Arthur was trying to scrape off some of the onions that had gotten stuck on the hot pan and now was oozing off an awful smell. They were completely glued to the skillet, and, although it was strictly against every law Arthur abided by, he decided to leave the onions to the evil and merciless clutches of the frying pan, hoping that in due time they would peel off all by themselves. 

 

The kitchen air was hot and getting increasingly hard to breath in, and so, abandoning the onions in the sink, Arthur went to open the window to get some fresh air into the misty room. Halfway there, though, the timer on the fridge went off, beeping loudly and determinedly, startling Arthur who spun around, trying to figure our what the beeping meant. Through the misty fogs of the unbreathable air, the timer blasting in his ears, he got to see the full impact of his failing dinner. 

 

Apart from the enormous mess he had made, water, pieces of salad, vinegar, eggs everywhere, the oven and the stove were in highly need of his assistance, the pasta begging him to save them from drowning, and the meat screaming in fear and horror. 

 

Dark black smoke swirled out from the oven, a small fire having started inside the hot thing. On the same time, water was gushing all over the stove as the pot boiled over, the water running down the sides of the cupboard and down to the floor, still bobbling merrily in triumph. 

 

For a spilt second Arthur stood uncertainly, watching the progress of his opponents, trying to figure out if rushing over and fighting the evil monsters that were ruining his food, or hurrying over to do something about the thick air, that was getting harder and harder to not only breath in but also see through, was a better rescue plan. Deciding the window could wait, Arthur slid to the oven, opening the damn thing wide open, but the oven would not have it. 

 

A dark dense wall of smoke hit Arthur straight in the face and he coughed widely, gasping for air, tears prickling in his eyes. He pulled back, fighting to find somewhat cleaner oxygen, while trying to clear up the smoke, hoping to see just how bad the situation inside the oven was. It was worse than he had imagined. Had he not known that a prepared chicken had been thrust in the oven, he might have mistaken it for a piece of coal, taken from a fireplace by an abandoned beach. 

 

Running worried hands over his face, Arthur turned his attention to the stove that had transformed into a swimming pool of hot water and bubbles. His eyes searching the object of evil, came to rest on the pot that had held the water now splashing about on the floor. He reached for it to empty it out in the sink, but quickly abandoned that plan, his hands red from the boiling touch of the warm metal.

 

In the stress of the pain, Arthur frantically made to cool his hinds under the soothing cold water of the tap, making a sudden miscalculated move and accidentally hit the bowl of salad - the somewhat alright part in the huge mess that Arthur had hoped to call that night's dinner – which flew on the floor with a loud bang. 

 

Everything had failed; the pasta in the pot, the meat in the oven, the salad in the bowl, himself and most of the kitchen if he did not hurry to extinguish the fire. His skin stung, his eyes swum and his lungs begged for clean air, but he ignored it all, and instead filled the half empty salad bowl with water and threw it all inside oven. A massive cloud of smoke invaded him, enveloping him in a tight embrace. Arthur felt himself suffocate and again tried to move towards the window, but this time the egg succeeded. Arms falling manically in the air, Arthur wildly searched for something to steady him, but the only thing he got hold off, ended up joining him in his fall. 

 

A massive thud, and two gasps of both surprise and pain. 

 

"Christ, Arthur. I really cannot leave you alone for even a second, can I?" Groaned a voice with a thick irish accent. The dark haired man struggled to get off Arthur, who lay in a confused mess.

"Merlin? How long have you been here?" Arthur spluttered, looking at the lanky man, who swiftly was turning the kitchen inhabitable again; opening the window, freeing the pot of its lid and content, and throwing out what was once meat but now rather seemed a piece of coal. 

 

"Clearly not long enough. What were you even thinking?" The pan Arthur had left to its fate was a dully shining black again, and most of the egg had been disposed off. Arthur still lay in the pool of water, flour and misery, avoiding Merlin's eyes. 

 

"You silly fool. Up with ya!" Merlin's voice had gotten softer, seeing the regret and disappointment in Arthur's avoiding gaze. With a strong pull he got Arthur on his feet. 

"Sorry Merlin. I just thought you wanted the evening off, and that maybe I could cook for once." Arthur looked down embarrassed. 

Planting a soft kiss on the blond man's forehead, Merlin shook his head incredulously. "You silly donkey brain. I like cooking for you, alright? How about we order Chinese take-away, hm? Sounds like a plan?" 

 

Arthur agreed, pulling Merlin in for a tickling fit.

 

 

cheesy fic is cheesy..