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Arthur leaned against the doorframe to the kitchen and smiled.
There was Merlin, talking animatedly to the cook – an ancient bloke with a fake French accent he had kind of inherited from his father – who usually didn’t even let anybody into his realm.
He was happy that the staff of the mansion accepted Merlin as an addition so easily. They didn’t have much of a choice, true, but it was difficult not to like Merlin and they had kind of adopted him. He was like the lovable little brother that they had to teach the tricks of the trade to, to help him avoid any faux pas’ that he might run into. Arthur knew it was still way too early to introduce Merlin to society and smiled to himself as he imagined Merlin stumbling through a ball or spilling his drink on people at a reception. That would have to wait.
For now, he was just happy to watch him in a discussion with the cook about some ingredient or other. Merlin loved to cook. Or rather, he loved to eat. And Arthur could never get enough of watching him do it.
The way he sucked berries into his mouth, the way he closed his eyes and ‘mmm’-ed when he found something especially tasty and even the way he wolfed things down when he was really hungry was a sight to see.
Now he held a small glass of some creamy liquid the cook had offered him and drank carefully.
Arthur’s heartbeat sped up and he felt a tingle all over his body when the liquid left a little moustache on Merlin’s upper lip. Merlin’s tongue darted out to lick it off and Arthur had to hold back a groan. As Merlin’s eyes lit up and he took another sip just to savor the taste, Arthur closed his eyes. He knew he had to retreat, he couldn’t let himself be caught getting aroused over watching someone eating. This was embarrassing. Nobody could ever know about this.
When he opened his eyes again, Merlin stood really close, a mischievous smirk on his face. “One day,” he whispered, “one day, I’m gonna make you come just by eating for you.”