Work Text:
Arthur sighed in relief as the council chambers emptied slowly. The meeting had stretched on seemingly forever. If he had had to hear one more inane argument veiled in niceties from the self-serving nobles of the court, he would have gone mad. He hadn't even had Merlin to distract him, what with the upcoming festivities celebrating the last of the successful harvest. His manservant had been attending to his official duties as well as assisting Guinevere, his dear friend and the castle castellan, with the feast and town celebrations in just a few days time.
Arthur gathered his notes and rose from his seat. He nodded at the guards as he left the council chambers and strode down the halls, taking his time. He was a little hungry, but it was a lovely day and nothing was pressing, so he decided to go back to his chambers at his own pace, enjoying the sunlight streaming in through the castle windows.
On his short journey through the castle he was stopped several times, by knights, courtiers, and commoners alike, all eager to speak to their king about various topics such as training, court gossip or, in the case of the commoners and servants, simply remarking on the unseasonably warm weather and thanking him for his role in the recent peace of the kingdom. Arthur felt pleased that the people considered him so approachable and human, and encouraged interactions such as these whenever the time allowed. He left each conversation with a smile on his face.
Finally reaching his chambers, the king pushed open the door. He was unsurprised to see Merlin hunched over a project; mending, this time. Merlin hadn't noticed Arthur's entrance into the room, such was his concentration. Arthur closed the door softly behind him and turned back to surreptitiously admire the view of his manservant.
*****
A few months before, having noticed Merlin's clothing looking worn and threadbare, Arthur had commissioned a new wardrobe for Merlin. Merlin had protested at first, saying that the clothes he had were “Just fine, thank you very much, you prat!” but Arthur had insisted, saying that he should have done it long ago anyway. The king's manservant was a representative to the king, and should look as such. That was his excuse, anyway; he really just wanted Merlin to have certain niceties. Merlin had conceded, but only if he was allowed a new set of neckerchiefs as well. Arthur had agreed.
When the royal tailor had arrived, Merlin had still been stewing a bit despite his acquiescence to the entire situation. When Arthur had begun to list off all of things Merlin would need—several sets of shirts and trousers for both warm and cold weather, formal wear, a winter coat, winter boots, a couple of cloaks, gloves, socks, smallclothes, nightclothes, as well as a dozen neckerchiefs—Merlin had been incredulous, and had raised new objections. Both Arthur and the tailor ignored him as they went into the specifics of Merlin's new wardrobe.
Merlin had been eyeing the tailor nervously as he measured what seemed to be every part of his body when he had a thought. “Arthur, I don't have space for all of these clothes. I couldn't possibly accept all that.” He had thought he had found a good argument as Arthur looked thoughtful, rubbing his chin, and felt a small sense of relief. But his relief was short-lived when Arthur nodded, went to his door, and asked a guard to call the carpenter to measure Merlin's chambers for a larger wardrobe, and a new bed while they were at it. “Really, Merlin,” Arthur had said, “I can't believe how you've been able to sleep on that child's cot all this time.” With a sigh of defeat, Merlin stood still and silent for the rest of his measurements while Arthur was not at all subtle about the smug look on his face.
The first day that Merlin had come in in his new tailored clothes, Arthur had barely been able to keep his mouth from dropping open. The soft shirt and trousers were much more fitted, and Merlin's figure was not lost in the depths of his old clothing any longer. And when had he gained such a figure? It seemed, unbeknownst to Arthur, Merlin had developed from a scrawny boy into a lean man with broad shoulders, legs that went on for leagues, and a rather flattering behind.
Despite Arthur's efforts to reveal any reaction to Merlin's new state of dress, Merlin had seen something on his face and ducked his head, redness creeping into his cheeks and ears. Down his neck, too, though his vibrant blue neckerchief hid just how far down the blush traveled. He had simply mumbled his thanks while waving vaguely at his outfit before quickly grabbing Arthur's armor to start shining it with great concentration, resolutely not looking in Arthur's direction until he was called later to retrieve Arthur's bath.
*****
Arthur observes as Merlin mends his jacket for the upcoming feast. His knees are drawn up to bring the work closer to his vision, and he's leaning over it. Merlin is fully absorbed in his work, brows furrowed and with a small frown of effort on his face. It reminds Arthur of the fierce concentration of a kitten about to pounce. He huffs in quiet laughter at the mental picture.
Merlin pauses in his work and removes his neckerchief, and Arthur watches as he balls it up to pat at the light sweat on his neck and forehead from the warmth of the room, then as he tosses it on his shoulder and continues his task. Merlin tilts his head as he turns the work, tendons displaying on his long neck as his exposed collarbones shift with his movements. Arthur swallows. How often has Merlin been without his neckerchief? He wears them even in the summer. Seeing his neck bared so seems to Arthur almost like peeking down at a leaning barmaid's bosom. Unbidden, an image comes to his mind of stroking his calloused fingers down that long neck to feel how soft the skin is, running his mouth along it to see how it tastes on his tongue...
Arthur blinks, and notices that his trousers have become a little tighter. He looks down and is relieved to notice that his tunic is long enough to cover any visible signs of his—wildly inappropriate, he tells himself—arousal. He clears his throat, announcing his presence. Merlin jumps in his seat then hisses, having stabbed himself with his needle, and swiftly twists in his seat.
“Arthur! You startled me. How long have you been here?” Merlin asks, eyebrows rising in surprise and question as he rubs his stinging finger with his other hand.
Arthur smirks and waves his hand nonchalantly. “It could have been a minute, Merlin, or it could have been an hour.” He grins, stepping forward. “You never would have noticed, you big buffoon.” he finishes fondly, ruffling Merlin's hair. Merlin bats his hand away but grins in return, responding, “Prat.” just as affectionately.