And a prophecy, if you don't mind. [ just, ya know, toss one in there. for the funsies. ] Like 'he who finds this sword will henceforth be the most badass in the land', or 'have the nicest hair in all history to come'. You know, whatever.
[ in all honesty, he doesn't really know what he'd do with excalibur if he did find it. put it away at BCR, like the other powerful relics he's found? or just put it back, probably. so long as no one else is likely to find it. it's a joke, really. he doesn't have any kind of need for a sword like that, and while it'd be beyond incredible to have his hands on, max doesn't see a reason in waking up something so old and so powerful just for the sake of novelty. but it would be cool. cool as hell.
currently, he's too enchanted by mingling their magic together to be very concerned about relics. there was a night not very long ago in witch haus, when tris came to shake him awake, when his own magic had started to come back to him. that sat out on the living room floor doing things like this, just reveling in the feeling of letting their magic flourish and play. it's something deeper than natural urges like breathing, eating, sleeping. it feels like something spiritual, even, and there's something so satisfying about just celebrating in it, allowing yourself to be what you were created with, and reveling in it with someone like you.
and christ, merlin's magic is incredible. even with just a simple flame, he can feel the power in it, and the purpose, even more so when merlin's hand covering his, as he presses the magic into him. not trailing it over his skin, or playing at the tattoos like he and davina had done. it's inside him, under his skin, sifting through him and surging through his veins, and it's completely intoxicating. the enchanted ink on his skin flares up, each in the animation they usually take when magic is pushed into the spells. the circle on the inside of his palms, the marks on his forearms lighting up, the normally hidden lines on his neck blossoming up from the piece that decorates his collar bones. not just any magic - something old, breathed out of the earth into a vessel meant for this kind of natural force alone - and it feels like an embrace from long lost family. ]
It's-- [ he starts, but speaking isn't the easiest thing at the moment, so much more focused on the sensation, and max's free hand moves to mimic what merlin had done on the other side. it's careful, not wanting to burn merlin, but hoping the theory he'd had, about him being immune, is correct, and when flames lick at merlin's wrist while leaving no mark, it's with a wide, breathless smile that he lets his palm move, up over his forearm, towards the elbow, pushing up fabric of his shirt to his bicep, with the vibrant heat and surging, pressing energy that's the signature of max's magic. ] It's a life force. Part of reality and everything the world's made of. How can it be evil when everything lives because magic is part of it?
[ the warmth spreads, floating over merlin's skin and weaving with the energy built up in him, as max's palm touches the side of his neck, watching the bright orange color spread under palm skin, entranced. before he's really realized it, he's already leaning forward, tugging merlin in, and pressing lips together in a sound kiss, both soft and searing. they'd felt so tangled up already, and with merlin's magic thrumming through his limbs, it'd just felt right to breathe it back into him, or maybe to seek out more. max never really puts a whole lot of forethought into these things. ]
no subject
[ in all honesty, he doesn't really know what he'd do with excalibur if he did find it. put it away at BCR, like the other powerful relics he's found? or just put it back, probably. so long as no one else is likely to find it. it's a joke, really. he doesn't have any kind of need for a sword like that, and while it'd be beyond incredible to have his hands on, max doesn't see a reason in waking up something so old and so powerful just for the sake of novelty. but it would be cool. cool as hell.
currently, he's too enchanted by mingling their magic together to be very concerned about relics. there was a night not very long ago in witch haus, when tris came to shake him awake, when his own magic had started to come back to him. that sat out on the living room floor doing things like this, just reveling in the feeling of letting their magic flourish and play. it's something deeper than natural urges like breathing, eating, sleeping. it feels like something spiritual, even, and there's something so satisfying about just celebrating in it, allowing yourself to be what you were created with, and reveling in it with someone like you.
and christ, merlin's magic is incredible. even with just a simple flame, he can feel the power in it, and the purpose, even more so when merlin's hand covering his, as he presses the magic into him. not trailing it over his skin, or playing at the tattoos like he and davina had done. it's inside him, under his skin, sifting through him and surging through his veins, and it's completely intoxicating. the enchanted ink on his skin flares up, each in the animation they usually take when magic is pushed into the spells. the circle on the inside of his palms, the marks on his forearms lighting up, the normally hidden lines on his neck blossoming up from the piece that decorates his collar bones. not just any magic - something old, breathed out of the earth into a vessel meant for this kind of natural force alone - and it feels like an embrace from long lost family. ]
It's-- [ he starts, but speaking isn't the easiest thing at the moment, so much more focused on the sensation, and max's free hand moves to mimic what merlin had done on the other side. it's careful, not wanting to burn merlin, but hoping the theory he'd had, about him being immune, is correct, and when flames lick at merlin's wrist while leaving no mark, it's with a wide, breathless smile that he lets his palm move, up over his forearm, towards the elbow, pushing up fabric of his shirt to his bicep, with the vibrant heat and surging, pressing energy that's the signature of max's magic. ] It's a life force. Part of reality and everything the world's made of. How can it be evil when everything lives because magic is part of it?
[ the warmth spreads, floating over merlin's skin and weaving with the energy built up in him, as max's palm touches the side of his neck, watching the bright orange color spread under palm skin, entranced. before he's really realized it, he's already leaning forward, tugging merlin in, and pressing lips together in a sound kiss, both soft and searing. they'd felt so tangled up already, and with merlin's magic thrumming through his limbs, it'd just felt right to breathe it back into him, or maybe to seek out more. max never really puts a whole lot of forethought into these things. ]