Chapter Text
In hindsight, Arthur should have asked what time Hunith and Merlin usually get up on Christmas Day, but he’s yanked from sleep by Merlin shaking his shoulder. Groaning, he grabs his phone and discovers it’s 9am. Could be worse.
“Stockings!” Merlin says gleefully, and he’s out of bed and zipping to the door before Arthur’s even got a good yawn in.
He sits up, bleary-eyed. “I’ve never seen you move so fast.”
Merlin comes back with two stockings, old and well-loved, and Arthur looks at him, confused.
“Here’s yours,” Merlin says, putting it on Arthur’s lap when Arthur doesn’t take it from him and sitting at the foot of the bed to empty out his own.
Arthur takes everything out one at a time, touched by the unexpected gesture. He unwraps the presents carefully, something he wouldn’t usually care to do. The bulge in the toe of the stocking turns out to be an orange, and Arthur holds it up with a questioning glance to Merlin.
“Tradition,” Merlin says, mouth already full and the bed scattered with orange peel.
“I didn’t expect this,” Arthur says, the only way he can articulate how moved he is that Hunith thought of him, even with something as small as stocking fillers. He breaks his own rule of never eating before brushing his teeth in the morning, flicking orange peel at Merlin when he steals a segment from Arthur’s.
They make it downstairs by ten, Arthur going ahead as Merlin knocks on his mum’s bedroom door. He puts the kettle on for something to do, fiddling with the strings of his hoodie and trying not to think of himself as intruding. The Pendragons always do Christmas morning together — they don’t hate each other that much — but it was never the cosy family affair Arthur suspects it’ll be at the Emrys house.
Merlin thunders down the stairs in time to help carry the mugs of tea to the lounge, and Hunith isn’t far behind him, wearing a dressing gown over her pyjamas.
“Merry Christmas, Arthur!” she says cheerfully, accepting her tea.
“Merry Christmas,” Arthur returns. His nerves fade as he sits beside Merlin, who’s cross-legged on the floor and already has a present in his lap.
Thankfully, Arthur only has one present from his father, the other being from Morgana, who doesn’t go overboard and wouldn’t give him something expensive he’d be embarrassed to open in front of Merlin and Hunith. Uther’s personal assistant sent him cologne from Arthur’s favourite brand. Morgana got him a necklace, a fine gold chain, and Arthur slides it out of its protective paper and admires the pendant, subtly embossed with a roaring dragon.
“That’s beautiful, Arthur,” Hunith says.
“From my sister,” Arthur says, pleased. Morgana always did have impeccable taste. Upon looking over at Hunith, he realises the present she’s holding is from him, and doesn’t know whether he should watch her open it or not. He steals glances as he puts the necklace to one side.
Merlin, flipping through a book he just unwrapped, looks up as Arthur does when Hunith exclaims. “Oh,” Hunith says again, flushing in pleasure as she holds the jumper aloft. “It’s gorgeous, Arthur, thank you.”
Even though Merlin had given it the seal of approval, Arthur breathes out in relief that she really does like it. The only girl he’s ever shopped for is Morgana, and while he knows her better than anyone, he can’t really apply her taste to anyone else — he bought her throwing knives, for God’s sake.
The jumper is royal blue cashmere, soft as butter and embroidered here and there with tiny stars, the thread so gold against the blue that they seem to glow. Arthur had elected not to show Merlin the price, even now he sees it was worth every penny to see Hunith’s smile.
Merlin’s smiling too, and while his mum is distracted putting wrapping paper into the bin bag, he reaches over and squeezes Arthur’s hand. “Here,” he says when he lets go. “I’ve been waiting weeks to give this to you.”
The present he puts in Arthur’s lap is wrapped so professionally it rivals Uther’s, and Arthur reaches for the present he got Merlin with a slight grimace. Merlin charitably doesn’t crack a smile, thumbing over edges that aren’t quite stuck down without comment.
After a brief standoff, Arthur unwraps his first.
It’s a book, he could tell without opening it, but the paper falls away to reveal Tales of King Arthur & the Knights of the Round Table, selected from Thomas Malory’s Le Morte D’Arthur. It’s something he’s spent his whole life hearing about, even more so when he went to uni and became best friends with Merlin, the irony never lost on them. Merlin, a big reader, was much more aware of the legends than Arthur, who’d never known quite where to start.
The book is beautiful, dark cover serving to highlight the gold filigree designs curling around the shining title. Arthur runs his fingers over the words and swallows, heart suddenly in his throat. They’d often talked about the stories, like they’re some extension of their friendship, past lives they don’t remember. This is something Arthur never would have thought to ask for, but that Merlin knew he’d love.
“Thank you,” he says into Merlin’s shoulder, fingers curling into Merlin’s back meaningfully, not quite ready to do more than hug him in front of Hunith.
When they part, Merlin pulls the last present into his lap, and Arthur and Hunith go quiet.
“I should’ve gone first,” Merlin says. “Now you’re both staring at me.”
Arthur also wishes Merlin had gone first, and then there wouldn’t be such suspense surrounding a present Arthur chose. “Performance anxiety?” he quips.
“Never,” Merlin says, and starts unwrapping with relish. It isn’t difficult, because Arthur hasn’t wrapped it very well, so Arthur doesn’t have much time to prepare himself for when Merlin goes silent.
He’d bought Merlin a coat, finding it harder and harder to watch Merlin shivering in the thin brown coat he’d had for all of uni and refused to replace, sending any spare money he had back home and hardly indulging in anything besides the pub.
It’s a brown shearling jacket, with a cream lining and collar. It isn’t real leather and the lining is made from borg, because Arthur knows Merlin would never forgive him if the making of it had caused any egregious harm. The pockets are deep enough for Merlin’s tendency to accumulate things — pens, cool rocks, his third pair of earphones that month — and it’s warm enough for the northern winters, for dog walks and the biting chill of January in Ealdor.
Arthur bought it before they travelled home, obviously, but he can’t help but think that it’s too clearly the gift of a man in love.
Merlin’s ears are pink, and he rubs them self-consciously, apparently stunned into silence as he holds it up, strokes the faux-leather, runs his fingers across the soft, soft collar. Hunith’s eyebrows raise almost to her hairline before she seems to realise what her face is doing and clears her throat.
“My goodness,” she says, and her smile is helpless now, cheeks dimpling. In that moment, Arthur knows she understands the depths of his feelings for Merlin. “Arthur, that’s… wow.”
“Wow,” Merlin echoes. “Jesus, Arthur. I got you a book.”
“And I love the book,” Arthur says, feeling like he’s stood on the edge of a cliff. “Do you like it?”
“Do I like it?” Merlin demands, and he finally turns to face Arthur properly with a thousand-watt smile. “Oh my God, it’s perfect!”
He collides with Arthur like he’d been shot out of a cannon, throwing his arms around him and squeezing him so tight Arthur coughs, barely having the presence of mind to clutch at Merlin in return.
“Really?” he says, hating himself the second it’s out of his mouth for sounding so insecure but not experienced enough with gift-giving to reassure himself. He hadn’t been sure the gesture would be well-received: choosing something like a coat for someone is more personal than the various football paraphernalia he’d picked out for the team, and he’d been equally concerned that Merlin might oppose the cost of it; Arthur certainly hadn’t bought it from Primark.
Their first Christmas at uni, he got Merlin sweets, same as everyone else, having only known them all three months. Things are a bit different, this year.
“Yes,” Merlin says, firm enough to erase all doubt. “It’s gorgeous. It goes with my boots. Did you have personal shopping lessons alongside your etiquette classes, or something?”
“Shut up,” Arthur says, horrified to feel his cheeks warm in a blush. Arthur Pendragon does not blush. “I was just born perfect, what can I say?”
“You boys,” Hunith says fondly.
Arthur’s finding it hard to look away from Merlin, whose gaze is sharp and dark with intent. He needs to kiss Merlin more than he needs water to live, but he can’t quite kick his brain into gear to make that happen. Merlin is the first to succeed.
“We’d better take these upstairs,” he says breezily. Arthur nods vigorous agreement.
He puts the book safely in his suitcase, certain that he won’t have time to read it until the Easter holidays. Merlin hangs the coat in his wardrobe, touching a reverent hand to the collar before closing the door, and they turn to each other at the same moment.
Arthur moves towards him, surer now but no less awed that he’s allowed this close. Merlin takes Arthur’s face in his hands and kisses him fiercely, thumbs brushing Arthur’s cheekbones as he coaxes Arthur’s mouth to open to his. Arthur opens, and he wants.
They make it halfway, collapsing and laughing between kisses on the unmade bed, and Merlin’s a vision above him, knees around Arthur’s waist and eyes bright as he leans down for another kiss. Arthur’s hand slips down to palm Merlin’s arse, squeezing, the first more intimate move either of them had made.
Merlin bites back a moan Arthur would have given his life to hear in its entirety, pressing himself into Arthur’s hands, and Arthur makes it his mission to hear that noise again.
By the afternoon, Hunith's parked them side by side on the sofa, the coffee table cleared of detritus and covered with vegetables instead. The potatoes are on Merlin’s side and he’s already gotten started by the time Hunith comes back with an assortment of knives and a second chopping board.
“Would you mind chopping the vegetables, dear?” Hunith asks.
“Not at all,” Arthur says, basking in the sweet smile of thanks she gives him. Once she leaves him alone with Merlin, he drops the faux-confidence. “Merlin—“
“You’ve never chopped a vegetable in your life, I know.”
“Frozen ones come pre-sliced,” Arthur mutters. He settles the chopping board across his knees and grabs a carrot.
“You’ll probably have to cut the swede on the floor, they’re right bastards,” Merlin says conversationally. His peeled potatoes are all smooth angles where Arthur’s would have been jagged edges, and Arthur is grateful it wasn’t his job. Merlin demonstrates with minimal teasing and Arthur sets to his task, half-listening to Hunith humming in the kitchen.
After the carrots, he helps Merlin with the potatoes, chopping them into appropriately-sized chunks and ducking as Merlin launches potato peel at him, narrowly missing Arthur and landing on the sofa.
“You bought me this jumper,” he says reproachfully, stifling a laugh as he pinches the peel between finger and thumb and drops it into the bin bag at their feet.
“I did,” Merlin says, and his eyes track hungrily across Arthur’s shoulders and chest in a way that has Arthur shifting in his seat. “That's good taste.”
Arthur can’t argue — not when Merlin’s looking at him like that.
The Christmas dinner comes together, bit by bit. After the potatoes and other vegetables are chopped, Merlin joins his mum in the kitchen, leaving Arthur to bring through the chopping boards and various knives and load the dishwasher, ducking carefully around the two of them. He sits at the table with his laptop, on hand to help if needed but staying out of the way, and he makes everyone tea once all the food is in the oven.
They sit down to dinner at about three, Hunith having changed into the jumper Arthur got her and the boys swapping sweatpants for jeans. Hunith pours the drinks, knowing as well as Arthur does that Merlin can’t be trusted with wine, and raises her glass.
“To our honoured guest,” she says, any irony defused by the warmth in her tone.
Merlin’s socked foot nudges Arthur’s ankle under the table and stays there, a breathless point of contact just for them. But Arthur’s glad Hunith knows, glad he came home with Merlin, glad, for the first time, for Christmas and all the sentiment it entails.
There’s a deeper connection between the three of them at the table, something that makes Arthur feel safe, and wanted, and loved.
It feels like family.