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He’d never admit it, but Arthur longed to be touched.
Longed to wrestle amicably with the other knights, to be able to shove them around and have them shove right back as they did amongst each other. To be reassured by his father with something more than a minute squeeze of the shoulder, to be greeted by Morgana with something more than raised eyebrows and a sarcastic quip.
He longed to be touched easily, freely, without reservation or alterior motive. But he was a prince, and touch was a luxury princes simply didn’t get.
Ever since he was a child, people kept their distance. Touching a prince could easily be mistaken for an attempt to harm him, so servants didn’t dare. Nobles thought it was improper, but he hadn’t expected anything less from them anyways. He’d hoped that once he was old enough he’d be close enough to the knights that small, casual contact wouldn’t be an issue, but even they seemed to be wary of him, their formality getting on his nerves at times.
And so Arthur Pendragon grew up understanding that human touch was just not a thing he could have, not casually or amicably. He’d get it once he was married, probably (he assumed, he wasn’t exactly an expert on marital relationships) but not before then, and definitely not from anyone bar his wife.
It seemed like it would always be like this, and the prince had grown to accept that.
Then came Merlin.
Merlin was clumsy. He was witty and tenacious and had zero concept of personal boundaries. His smile was as infuriating as it was pretty, and he only seemed to own two sets of shirts. No matter what Arthur did he couldn’t seem to dislike the boy, and as time went on, one might’ve said he’d even grown fond of him.
(not that Merlin would ever know).
And for the first time in Arthur’s life someone didn't see him as a prince to be attended to, or a future heir to suck up to, and as much as it annoyed Arthur it was also a breath of fresh air. He liked the way Merlin talked right back at him instead of agreeing with his every word, liked the way he said exactly what he thought, even if it was a bit daft.
But more than that, he liked how Merlin touched him so freely, so casually and without so much as a second thought. He bumped into Arthur while doing chores, in the hallways, on hunting trips as he carried equipment. He elbowed him whenever he was being particularly prattish, as Merlin would call it, and it didn’t seem to occur to him that maybe he shouldn’t, because he was a servant and Arthur was a royal. There was no awkwardness around him, no forced formality or heavy expectations. Just them and whatever strange dynamic they’d fallen into, and Arthur would never tell him but Merlin became the closest thing he’d ever had to a friend.
It wasn’t until he was touched often that he realised that he needed it.
No one beside his father ever got close enough to touch him before Merlin, and his father’s touches were never soft. They were brief and always meant something, like sit up straighter or stop it or make sure you don’t embarrass me . And there used to be his previous manservant’s touches, of course, when he helped Arthur get dressed, but those had always been impersonal and calculated. So when the warmth of Merlin’s forearms lingered on his back a little longer than was needed, his slender fingers fumbling with a button on his dress robes, Arthur wasn’t quite sure what to think. His mind seemed to only be able to focus on that feeling, the sensation being burnt into his mind and the skin below it tingling at the contact. It wasn’t even his skin that was being touched, he shouldn’t be reacting like this. But Arthur couldn’t think straight, not while Merlin’s arms made contact with his back.
So he did the only thing he could think to do, he moved away from Merlin. Away from the burning and overwhelming emotion that came from the prolonged touch. He missed the warmth almost immediately, enough to almost make him go back and pretend he’d never moved. But his pride was on the line, so he straightened up and tried to look annoyed.
“What on Earth is taking so long?” he asked, and Merlin just made a face.
“Your button is all fiddly. Maybe if you kept still for two seconds instead of shaking I’d be able to-”
“Shaking? I wasn’t shaking.”’
Merlin frowned at him, concern making its way onto his features. “Yes you were.”
“You’re imagining things, Merlin. Just do it up already, I’m supposed to be there soon,” Arthur grumbled, turning back around so Merlin could finish. Had he really been shaking?
It’s not a big deal , he told himself. It’s just a stupid touch from Merlin .
It was cold, and Arthur was exhausted.
The day had been too much. Too much pressure, too much emotion he’d had to keep in check. His father had made his disappointment clear once again over dinner and Arthur had stood straight up and walked out, no longer able to stomach more criticism.
So what if I’m not everything you wanted? he mumbled unintelligibly as he climbed the stairs towards his room, his vision becoming blurred the further he went. So what if I don’t have a wife? So what if I don’t want to marry just anyone who strolls in with a powerful father who owns strategic land? Maybe I want to marry someone who loves me. Someone who actually wants to-
He had to stop himself there, or else he’d start crying. And the future king of Camelot did not cry, not in the middle of the corridor after something so stupid.
Except apparently he did, because tears were beginning to stream down his face against his will.
He wiped at his face with his sleeve, no longer caring about what state his shirt would be in later. There was no one around, thankfully, but what if someone did decide to walk down here? No one should have to see their prince like this. Weak, human. Full of fear and anger and exhausted to his very core.
He just had to get to his rooms, and everything would be fine.
With his nails digging into his palms, he walked a little faster. The pain kept him grounded, kept his mind clear. He arrived at last at his door, pushing it open with his elbow as he rubbed his eyes again, allowing his composure to drop a little further. His palms were red and sore, with clear nail marks carved deep into the flesh. Arthur ignored them in favour of pulling off his shirt, intending to crawl right into bed and not wake up til morning, when a soft voice by the fireplace stopped him in his tracks.
“Arthur?”
It was Merlin, because of course it was. Merlin, who’d seen the very best and very worst of him. Merlin, who woke him up each day with an overly enthusiastic greeting and his regular grin, no matter what Arthur grumbled in return. Merlin, dependable and witty and clumsy and daft.
Merlin had always been there.
Arthur paused by his bedpost, a little startled. The fire added a certain glow to his friend’s features, the dancing light casting shadows over his face. Made the frown lines deeper as he stared at Arthur, concern written all over them.
If Arthur hadn’t been so close to breaking, maybe he would’ve stopped to admire how handsome he looked.
“Arthur?” Merlin repeated, setting down whatever he’d been holding and walking over. Arthur didn’t move. He didn’t say anything, couldn’t say anything. Because if he tried, he was afraid it’d come out as a whimper. Or a sob. Or worse yet, a plea.
Hug me.
Hold me.
Tell me I’m not broken.
The tears came so hard and so fast he had to look away. It was reassuring to find he still had some pride, but he also wished he didn’t. Because now Merlin could pretend he saw nothing and walk away, leaving Arthur alone.
Merlin wouldn’t walk away, right?
His question was almost immediately answered by two strong arms wrapping themselves around his middle, pulling him close. So close he could smell the forest on Merlin, and the faintest trace of this evening’s dinner. Ear his heartbeat, loud and steady, pulsing against his neck.
The sudden warmth was overwhelming, so much so that he notably stiffened. Merlin began to draw back, mumbling an apology when Arthur’s limbs moved without his consent, pulling Merlin right back where he was, and a soft chuckle seemed to escape his lips. Arthur didn’t even have it in him to feel embarrassed, the feeling of being truly safe for the first time in his life too much for him to bear.
They stood there for a long time. Arthur’s skin began to burn in all the places Merlin was making contact, numbing his mind a little, but after a while it became a pleasant burn. A warm burn, a reminder that Merlin was still there and wasn’t leaving. And if a few sobs escaped him as they stayed there, neither of them mentioned it. Merlin just held him a little tighter, patient and gentle and warm.
“Sorry,” Arthur muttered after a while, pulling away and rubbing at his eyes. He was sure the embarrassment would catch up with him later, but for now he just felt light, like he could breathe a little easier knowing Merlin was here.
“It’s alright, really.” He said it quietly, seriously. Heavy with things better left unsaid. The feel of his breath reminded Arthur that they were still extremely close, as close as it’s possible to be without actually touching. And that he was still extremely shirtless.
What was this feeling? This… desire to step closer, end the short distance between them. To pull Merlin in, take in the shade of his eyes, the colour of his cheeks, the shape of his lips. To hold him, too intimately for there to not be something more between them.
The thought terrified Arthur, but he didn’t move. Merlin’s gaze was still fixed intently on him, soft but still alight with its usual ferocity. Neither of them dared move, dared break the moment and let it be lost forever.
Merlin was the first to look away.
His cheeks flushed a deep red as he did, turning a little as he moved back. He looked… guilty? Disappointed. Arthur hated seeing it on him.
“I should go, sire,” he said, already starting to move away. The title was sincere, Arthur realised, for the first time since Merlin had met him. It felt wrong. “Goodnight.”
Merlin was walking away. Merlin was walking away.
“Wait,” Arthur managed, his voice still a little hoarse. Merlin turned around, a hopeful look in his eyes. “Stay?”
He almost didn’t believe he’d said it. Maybe he’d just imagined saying it. But the instant smile on Merlin’s face told him he had said it. And he didn’t regret it.
“Okay.”