Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Arthur watched as his father held back, and refused to even touch him. He watched as his father, who supposedly loved him , refused to even acknowledge his achievements with a singular touch, on the shoulder, a pat or a squeeze, and he watched as Uther did nothing but stare, and nod, briefly, as if he thought too much would make Arthur cocky. Arthur was heartbroken. 

His own father refusing to touch him, hug him, give him a sign that he was proud of him, even if just a little, even if just a show for everyone else. But… nothing. His father kept his distance, and never gave him more than a curt nod, and - if he was extremely lucky - a smile. Small, insignificant. Forgettable.

Even in the privacy of Uther’s chambers, where not even guards nor servants were allowed to enter without permission, his father still kept a safe distance, as if Arthur was poison, hurtful. As if the King could not stand the sight of his own son, his only son, his only heir. Arthur felt unwanted, by his own damned father. 

And Arthur decided, in his bed one day, after feeling so damn longing, for something he was not sure he was allowed to have, he decided that if his father did not want him, did not want to touch him, that no one did. No one would be allowed to touch Prince Arthur, no one would be allowed to hold him, embrace him, touch him in any way. 

Arthur would not touch or be touched, like his father so clearly wanted, so clearly decided. Arthur would keep his body to himself, completely, and forever. 

Arthur was seven years old when he decided that.

It was strange with Merlin. 

He was the one almost-exception to Arthur’s rule, his promise, made when he was merely seven years old, merely a child, a hatchling, if he were a dragon.

Arthur could not see why Merlin was the only one he wanted to, and allowed himself, to touch (though, not fully. Simple pats and simple affectionate punches was the furthest he’d go); why Merlin was the only one he’d allow to punch him back, to touch, simply and gently, barely grazing the skin, why Merlin of all people was allowed to be close to him.

Arthur could not figure it out, for the life of him, why Merlin was the only almost-exception, after so many damn years. It could have been Guinevere, it could have been Morgana. Hell, it could have been Sir Leon for all Arthur cared and knew, but it simply did not happen. It was Merlin, who he had barely known. 

Merlin. Goddamned Mer lin. 

At first, Arthur was sure it was just some strange coincidence, that Arthur just went for the first person he saw after being unable to handle being starved of affection for so long, just some strange thing that Merlin had been present for, been the first person that Arthur decided to test out what it was like with. 

It seemed reasonable, more than that, when Arthur first decided, when he began webbing out theories to calm his mind, slow and careful.

It seemed to make perfect sense: Arthur had begun feeling more alone than ever, and he just could not take it, could not exist knowing that he could feel love, even if it was strange and bitten, half true, half not, on account of him being the Prince. Merlin had stumbled into his life (almost quite literally) and then saved it, without ever having known Arthur, not fully. So Arthur made a rash decision of letting Merlin be the first almost-exception to his rule, his self given punishment, his loneliness, and things had just gone from there.

Arthur remembers the way he first tried to truly, and completely, embrace Merlin. 

He was going in for a hug, he was and he tried so hard to make himself go through with it, fully, but he just couldn’t. When he saw Merlin reaching in for him, completely, ready to hug him, Arthur panicked, and backed away, his mind suddenly very against the idea of having an embrace that Arthur so clearly needed.

He’d resorted to embarrassing Merlin, telling him that he’d obviously read Arthur’s body language wrong (which he had not, obviously), and that it was his fault for assuming that the Crown Prince will want to hug him (which Arthur actually very much did). Arthur had then walked away, and stormed into his chambers, briefly panicking about the interaction and then, later at night, when he’d been getting ready for sleep, he…

He broke down. Completely, and Arthur had honestly never felt better than he did after he’d broken down.

He’d sat in his bed, silent at first, almost brooding, and did nothing but stare at the floor as Merlin scurried around him, completing chores and looking not at all unforgettable, as Arthur did in that moment. He seemed to have completely forgotten the almost hug incident, brushing it off as normal Arthur behaviour, and did nothing to try and alleviate some of the tension Arthur felt, in his chest and on his shoulders. 

Merlin had finished, smiled at him, slyly and quickly, then bowed with no real intention nor respect for Arthur. “Goodnight, my Lord,” he had said, words wrapped in sarcasm as he smiled at Arthur, who did nothing but stare, unblinkingly, back. 

Merlin had seemed to want to say something at first, but had decided against it. He shrugged, given Arthur one last look with something strange in his eyes and then left, the door hissing quietly shut behind him.

Arthur had stared at the door for a few minutes, still sitting on the edge of his bed, not quite sure what to do, when he felt something hot and wet and very liquidy fall on his hand, both of which were clasped, protectively, in his lap.

Arthur had looked down onto his finger, seen the tear sliding on and off his hand and he’d suddenly realised how his eyes were fully watering, a stream that seemed to flow with no stopping.

The tears had come quicker, after that: uncontrollable and vulnerable and straight up pitiful; tears falling and falling and falling, never once stopping, letting him breathe. Never once letting him understand why he was sobbing like a child, for no good reason.

He’s silent, at first, too. Not opening his mouth, just letting tears fall onto his hands and drenching them in so many salty tears that Arthur looks like he’d washed his hands with the water basin in his room. Then the sobs - true and proper sobs- came.

It was as if the sounds had assaulted him, completely, catching him off guard and causing him to hiccup and sob, as he was still sitting there, on the edge of his bed, unmoving, as cries built in his throat and then broke free again. They kept coming - making him let out ugly, giant, sobs of absolute despair, as he did nothing but sit in his bed and let the byproducts of the breakdown fall on his hands and drench them completely. 

His body shook and shook, never once pausing to let Arthur breath, let Arthur exist nor sleep. He shook and cried and sobbed until he was tired out of his mind, completely, and unable to wring any more tears out of red, hurting eyes.

Yet Arthur still couldn’t sleep. He just couldn’t. He needed something.

Arthur left his chambers at the height of the moon. 

At first, he’d wandered the castle, helpless and hopeless, not quite sure where he should be going, where he wanted to go. He didn’t know how to follow his gut, his heart, at least not consciously.

So he’d walked around, nodded at the guards in the night duty, and smiled and helped any servants he saw to be struggling, unable to keep their eyes open in the long night and day they had had. 

Arthur had let his mind drift, wander, and his feet and his body had taken charge, and taken him exactly where he knew he needed to be. Yet Artur was still scared, terrified, of where he needed to be. 

He stood, frozen, in front of Gaius chambers. 

He did not think he could knock, Arthur knew that; he risked the chance of waking up Gaius, and the physician would surely suspect something, and raise his ever-knowing eyebrow, making Arthur nervous to no extent. He hated that damn eyebrow.

So Arthur watched the door, not moving, not doing anything, just staring and hoping and wishing for something he knows damn well he will never have. 

Arthur, after a few minutes of contemplative silence, where Arthur is very tempted to barge in and do… something, he decides that it is best he actually does not do that, and instead just goes and pretends to be asleep. 

Except, he does not get to that part. He simply moves two steps, away from the chambers and the temptation, and hears a door open behind him, creaking slowly and carefully, not loud enough to wake anyone up. 

Arthur turns around, to be met with the stoat-like eyes of Merlin, who stares back with equal parts confusion, fear, and curiosity.

“Arthur?” he asks, quietly and discreetly, his voice almost hissing against the deafening silence that Arthur was hearing.

“Merlin,” Arthur replies, his voice almost collapsing as it leaves his throat. 

“Are you… Okay?” Merlin asks, his voice still quiet, as he shuts the door behind him, as to not disturb Gaius. Arthur watches the way he moves and speaks, with such a delicacy that he almost screams. 

“No.”

“Do you want to… talk?”

♕♕♕

They are on the roof, near the battlements, and Arthur’s eyes are stinging from too many tears being held back, afraid to cry in front of Merlin. 

“Oh,” Merlin says, after a few minutes of silence where he absorbs everything that Arthur has said, done, in the last few minutes. “I’m… so sorry, Arthur,” he says, and Arthur feels himself laugh internally. Merlin had nothing to be apologetic for.

“It’s alright, Mer lin,” he says, a careful tone of cheerfulness in his voice. He closes his eyes, and tilts his head back, taking in the air. He breathes silently, the cold wrapping his body in a way he wishes the warmth would.

Arthur is rightfully surprised, then, when he suddenly feels a warmth embrace him, and a head bury itself into his shoulder. He is rightfully surprised, when the voice mumbles, “Gods, Arthur, I am so sorry…”

Arthur doesn’t know what to do at first. Reasonably. He had never been held like this before, and he is struggling to see what the reasonable response is. Standing there, holding Merlin back, doing something entirely different? He isn’t sure.

He ultimately decides to hug back, and bury his own face into the crook of Merlin’ neck, and wrap his arms so tightly around Merlin that he lifts him off the ground, slightly, forcing Merlin to stand on his tip toes. It’s all very new to Arthur.

They stand like that, for several long minutes, in complete silence, save for Arthur quiet sniffling and his tears falling, that then escalates to full sobbing, which Merlin still holds Arthur through, never once letting go, never once letting him feel cold. Arthur lets out a shuddering breath.

Merlin pulls back, after a bit, yet he still holds Arthur. He stares at him for a moment, then places their foreheads together, the sudden warmth there being almost as unexpected ast the hug. Arthur doesn’t mind, however. 

Arthur then kisses Merlin. (Without much thought, to be fair.)

It’s nothing deep or passionate or lustful, just quick and simple, natural almost. Arthur doesn’t notice what he’s done, because it felt so natural to him, so normal, and he places his forehead back against Merlin’s until he opens his eyes and notices Merlin’s deer eyes and expression. 

They are still intertwined, embracing, Arthur’s arms around Merlin’s hips; Merlin’s arms around his neck, and their foreheads still pressed together.

“ Oh. ” Merlin breathes, his face hot and red with blush.

“Yeah,” Arthur says, a laugh stuck in his throat as he says so. “I didn't really know until… Yeah.”

But Merlin smiles, and sighs contently, and closes his eyes again. 

“Thank you,” Arthur says, his voice warm and sincere. Merlin brushes his lips against Arthur’s again, teasingly. Arthur blushes in response. 

Merlin smiles, and while both of them are there, in their night clothes, on the roof, in front of the battlements, the cold stinging their cheeks and eyes, he says, “You’re welcome. Anytime.”

‘Anytime’ turned out to be all the damn time.

Chapter Text

At first, ‘anytime’ meant anytime while they were alone, preferably in Arthur’s own chambers, without the risk of someone walking in, and seeing the Prince embracing (too tightly, too closely, it would seem…) his manservant, who could be fired at a moment’s notice. 

God forbid the King may walk in.

He didn’t of course, and Arthur breathed a sigh of relief whenever he let Merlin go, not because he’d let the hug end, but because no one had seen them. Merlin didn’t mind, particularly - Arthur had told him his feelings and boundaries, and he’d completely understood.

Yet that didn’t stop him from staring longingly at Arthur during meals with Uther, and his body ligering too much for too long behind Arthur whenever he’d poured his wine or water, whenever he’d serve him something else to eat. It didn’t stop Merlin from patting down his chest, slow like and very purposefully, when he was dressing him for a fight, with armour and sword and all.

They hadn’t stopped kissing, either. 

They’ve been more careless with the kisses, though, for some reason. They happen more frequently, more spontaneously, and not always in the safety of Arthur’s chambers - hell, not even in the safety of Merlin’s room, where no one really ever went unannounced. 

They’ve had many, both hugs and kisses, and both have been too many to count, certainly, yet not once have they been caught. Not by Uther, not by Gaius, nor even Morgana and Guinevere. They seem to be immune, protected.

That is, until they become too careless in the wrong place, thinking themselves to be safe from eyes that reveal themselves suddenly.

It is Morgana who sees them first. Which isn’t… great? But not too awful, also, as they find out that she is a much, much, preferred option to Uther.

She, ‘she’ being Morgana, catches them in the act of hugging, though, fortunately, so does not suspect the mere extent of their relationship. The most unfortunate thing about Morgana though, is that she will turn anything she can against Arthur, to annoy him as much as possible. So she ends up making courting jokes anyway, and causing much blushing on both sides.

They were in her chambers when it happened. Arthur can’t remember exactly why. MAybe they were looking for something? Maybe they just happened to be closest there when Arthur so desperately needed to be held? It doesn’t really matter, because they’d walked in there and looked around for a moment, and Arthur then turned and held his hands out for Merlin, his universal sign for a hug.

Merlin had complied without much fuss. Quickly, quite naturally, he’d slipped into Arthur’s arms and smiled as he closed his eyes.

The hold was simple, yet strong. Arthur had his arms around Merlin’s neck, this time, though, and Merlin had his arms around his waist. A reverse of what had happened last time, and almost completely coincidental. Arthur had his chin resting on Merlin’s hair, smelling it, it seemed, and Merlin’s face was buried in Arthur’s chest, smelling the olive oil, forest, and sand that Arthur strangely smelt of. 

They were holding one another, their eyes completely closed and lost in thought, when the door creaked open. They did not quite hear it do so.

Morgana stood, a half eaten apple in her hands, and her mouth hanging open, in surprise. She watched Arthur’s back, and saw Merlin absolutely buried in his chest, and she saw how gently Arthur held Merlin, and how Merlin gently stroked Arthur’s back, how carefully he traced his fingers up his spine. 

She watched, and watched still, and the two just held each other, Arthur’s breaths somewhat shuddering, and Merlin’s completely normal. She felt as though she shouldn’t see this - too private, Gods, it was too private, and she’d never seen Arthur act so vulnerable in front of anyone, not even Uther, not her, not the Knights. Gods, probably not even Guinevere. 

Morgana stared for a moment more, then cleared her throat, effectively alerting the two of her presence and making them jump wildly apart, the surprise and horror clear in their faces as they turned and stared at her.

“Morgana!”

“My Lady!” Merlin’s voice was somehow deeper than Arthur’s, who’s face had turned such a bright shade of red, and who’s eyes looked terrified - Gods, he looked so scared for some reason - that Morgana playfully, in her mind, compared him to a deer in torchlight.

“Well, hello there, love birds,” she joked, her eyes smiling as much as her mouth. “I sure hope I didn’t interrupt anything ,” her tone implies many, many, things that both of them had thought about but never asked to properly do. Never had the courage to properly think about them for too long, too. 

Arthur's face somehow turned more red - now resembling the colour of the apple in Morgana’s hand - and he cleared his throat, trying to compose his body and school his facial expression into something more neutral, which really wasn’t working.

“Morgana, we were-” he began, and Morgana noticed the sudden anxiety in his tone. She decided to relieve him of the stress.

“Nevermind that- Why were you in my room?” she asks, taking another bite from her apple. Arthur and Merlin stared at her for a moment. Arthur then answered.

“Father wishes to see you in the throne room,” his answer is calculated, military, void of feelings. Morgana brushes past it with ease. 

“Thank you, I will go now,” she says, and simply glides out of the room. She stops, then, for a moment, and turns back. “Do not worry, by the way, Arthur,” she says, a simple and innocent smile on her face. “I will not tell anyone,” she nods briefly at Merlin. “Just be more careful, if you want to keep this ‘secret’.” She winks at him, and slips out of the room before he can say anything in return. She does, however, catch a glimpse of Merlin turning red at her comments.

Morgana talks to Uther, and tells no one of the too private, vulnerable, place she saw Arthur in.  

***

The Knights tease them relentlessly when they see.

Arthur and Merlin are in the stables, getting the horses ready when it happens.

Well, technically, Merlin is getting the horses ready, and Arthur is standing there bothering him and eating the apples meant to be for the horses. Merlin calls Arthur out on this, who just laughs and tells him that he can’t tell the crown Prince what to do, because he is but a mere servant, which gets Arthur a handful of straw thrown at him. 

Arthur laughs, dusting the straw off his chainmail and clothes. “You know I’m joking,” he says, his tone half-serious, half-joking. He holds his arms out for Merlin, and says, “I think of you as much, much, more than that.”

Merlin smiles, sweetly and half secretly, and quickly gets rid of the whatever he was holding and moves away from the horses, slipping himself into Arthur’s arms.

They hold each other as they always do, always have since that night on the battlements: closely, protectively, almost as if the other will slip away if they don’t hold them well enough. 

Arthur’s arms are slipped around Merlin’s upper torso, and his head is buried in Merlin’s hair, because he is apparently infatuated with the way Merlin’s hair feels on his face, and the way it smells. He links his forearms behind Merlin’s back, and traps him effectively in place. Merlin smiles into his chest, because it is always buried there, 

Arthur shivers as he feels Merlin’s hands rub up and down his back, massaging him in a way, and scratching his back too. Arthur shudders with comfort, and a soft, innocent, sort of pleasure, as he lets Merlin trace his hands up and down his back and spine, still holding each other; the heat between them is almost too much. Almost.

They are perfectly content, safe, to stay there for as long as they can, they think, believing anything and everything to be possible while they are intertwined with each other, holding on to another.

That is, until they hear a round of very merry laughter coming from behind them.

They jump apart - not that it matters, now - like they had when they heard Morgana clear her throat, and they are caught like rats in a pantry. The Knights staring back at them don’t look necessarily evil or malicious, but definitely mischievous and teasing, which is honestly as bad as the former, if not worse. 

“Well, well, well,” says one, his voice absolutely bursting with glee as he stares at Merlin and Arthur, who are shifting farther and farther away from each other, as if they might help their case. It won’t. It just makes them look even more guilty. Which is perfectly good in the Knights’ eyes.

“Hello,” Arthur says, suddenly, his voice too casual, as if he wasn’t just caught embracing Merlin like his life depended on it. Merlin envied his ability.

“Sire, what an interesting position we caught you in,” the Knight says, ignoring completely Arthur’s greeting, moving in closer to both Arthur and Merlin. “Have we walked in on something… private?” The Knight’s voice is clearly suggestive, and both Arthur and Merlin cannot help but blush at the accusation. 

The other Knights laugh and jeer behind him, making noises and sounds too sinful to be considered appropriate for use in front of the Prince. Someone gives a wolf whistle, and Merlin has to resist the urge to smite them by setting them aflame. 

“No, you didn-” Arthur begins, using his Princely command but failing oh so miserably in the face of the Knights who are having the most fun they’ve had in ages. They may get charged for treason - they are basically bullying the Crown Prince - but most of them consider this totally worth it. They all laugh, make crude comments, and laugh harder when Merlin splutters a half-excuse, his face redder than the blood on some of the Knight’s armour.

After some minutes of relentless teasing, which Arthur succumbs to letting happen very earlier on, letting Merlin defend their honour on his own, someone clears their throat. Sir Leon, the absolute miracle worker and literally the reason Arthur doesn’t die because of the Knights’ tendencies to do whatever they please sometimes, steps forward, a small smile on his face. 

“I think we’ve teased them enough, have we not?” he says, his voice clear that this is a command, not a question. He smiles secretly at Arthur. “Up and at them, Knights of Camelot. Let’s get back to training.”

The Knights all boo and argue and try to not lesson, but they are out of the stables within seconds. Leon smiles at the two, and gestures to the exit. “Better get going, before they suspect something is afoot.”

“Leon, thank yous so-”

“Oh, don’t thank me,” Leon says. “You have no idea what I’m planning.”

And he leaves Arthur and Merlin behind, who gawk at each other and then follow him out quickly.

Chapter Text

Arthur is clingy.

He may deny it, profusely, but everyone who has ever gotten close to him will know that he latches onto people who show him the slightest bit of love (actual love, not just because he is a prince, but because he is himself and nobody else.).

So it comes as no surprise when he suddenly latches onto Merlin, a bit too much, maybe, and when he becomes too protective of the other man; to a point where everyone had to actively stop him from hurting himself for Merlin’s sake. 

Also, the hugs and physical displays become so much more obvious, and eventually cause problems, especially for Uther, who really doesn't want his son to be associated with such a peasant. 

What’s more is that the yearning relationship between the two causes Uther many, many, losses, especially when it comes to strategic ‘alliances’ he plans out for his one and only son, and heir.

They are to be at a feast later. Uther has invited over a faraway King and his many, many, daughters (seriously, this man has too many daughters for his own good) to an alliance meeting and talk, to speak of a treaty of the two kingdoms. 

Arthur, obviously, knows that the treaty is meant to be sealed off with his marriage to one of the daughters (preferably one closest to Arthur’s age, though Uther, at this point, may marry Arthur off to the one that is ten years his senior.), which will not only help the treaty, but guarantee Arthur a wife that will produce him heirs for the throne of Camelot. King Uther, killing two birds with one stone. 

And taking a Merlin along with them.

Arthur immediately notices the lack of pep in Merlin’s step. His downturned lips, his downcast eyes, his general demeanour which shows his lack of joy felt. Arthur would be able to tell Merlin's emotions deaf and blind and dead, he would be able to tell from millions of miles away, even when Merlin tried so desperately to hide it, pretending to be happy for Arthur’s sake.

“You know,” Arthur begins, as Merlin enters his room, getting ready to dress the Prince for the feast being held that night, in the honour of the visiting King and his daughters. Arthur is sitting alone in a chair. He says, after a moment of silence: “I don’t want to.”

“Pardon me, sire?”

Arthur raises an eyebrow. “Cut the title out. It does not suit you to say it,” his voice is almost joking as he says it, but he is a bit serious, too. “And,” he begins again, after a moment. “I meant that I do not wish to marry any of the princesses. In fact,” his voice is serious now, soft, as he says, “I will not.” 

Merlin stares, his eyes wide with surprise, maybe, or something else? Merlin then shakes his head, laughing. “I think you will need to, sire,” his voice is obviously trying to sound mocking, joking. “The King, both of them, think it needs to happen for the treaty to succeed. You cannot argue with your own father,” Merlin saying all this as he picks out clothes from Arthur’s closet and lays them down to produce an outfit spectacular enough for the feast, but not so much so that it causes him to look arrogant (though he is, Merlin says to himself) or up his own arse. 

“Merlin. I will not.” Arthur’s voice is more determined, more powerful, commanding, now. Merlin spares a glance at him, and sees him still sitting there, the look on his face clearly asking for Merlin to move to him. Merlin does so with speed and efficiency, and stands before Arthur as he stares down at him.

Their knees knock together, and the pain is barely noticeable. 

Arthur and Merlin stare at each other, for a moment, before Arthur moves. He opens his arms, giving Merlin a space to slide into. Merlin does so easily enough: slips easily into Arthur’s arms and even easier onto his lap.

They sit, holding one another, Arthur sitting in a chair, his back against the backrest, Merlin sitting in his lap, head on the Prince’s chest. They hold one another, breathing quietly. 

Merlin has his legs up on the chair, his feet resting firmer by Arthur’s side, effectively trapping him in place, a sort of silly claiming ritual he has developed a habit of. His arms are wrapped firmly around Arthur’s neck, one hand loosely running through Arthur’s hair, also a habit. Merlin smiles, and buries his Head in Arthur’s chest, the heat and comfort something he always wishes for. It’s just different with Arthur, it seems. 

Arthur sitting back, in his chair, holding Merlin in a way he has become far too comfortable with. One hand is running itself through Merlin’s hair, untangling and then again tangling the hair that it runs through; the other is on Merlin’s back, holding him protectively in place. Arthur’s own claiming ritual, similar to Merlin’s own.

They are in a position of comfort. They are enjoying each other's presence, and nothing else. 

Arthur’s hand runs up and down Merlin’s back, and soothes him, and the conversation earlier is forgotten, unthought of, as they sit. They are not thinking of the guards outside the door, nor the scurrying of the servants around the castle, nor the feast, nor even the Kings and their lengthy discussion of Arthur’s marriage to one of the daughters which brighten the rooms and laugh with merriment.

Merlin brings his own head up, and kisses the bottom of Arthur's chin, where his stubble is still prickly and known, which earns him a slow and deep laugh from Arthur, making Merlin himself grin, making him want to do more.

He moves higher, at first: to Arthur’s upper chin, to his cheeks, his eyes, his forehead and mouth. He kisses clumsily, jokingly, almost, smooching rather than actually trying to kiss, making Arthur laugh and giggle as different mwah! sounds leave Merlin’s mouth, his hands moving to rest on Arthur’s shoulders, sitting so that he is facing Arthur completely, face to face, and chest to chest, and stomach to stomach. Merlin’s legs and knees are now placed on each side of Arthur’s side.

Then, Merlin moves to kissing father down again, and the atmosphere changes, tension thick in the air.

The way he kisses Arthur’s chin brings about a sound from the Prince’s mouth that Merlin loves, so he does it again. Merlin moves down again, to Arthur’s neck, and this time his lips linger a little longer, and kisses, properly, instead of just touching, grazing. Arthur shifts beneath him, and his hands land on Merlin’s lower back, pulling him closer, as if that was possible. Merlin’s own hands move to Arthur’s chest, and trace his collar bone. 

Merlin’s kisses become nips and bites, possessive and completely unlike him, and he moves and moves across Arthur’s neck, marking him with bites and nips, his own mouth. Merlin smiles into Arthur’s neck as the Prince squirms beneath him, the gasp of his breath and moan on his lips enough to drive any sane man mad. 

Arthur still holds onto Merlin, his hands tracing across the bottom of Merlin’s shirt, sending sensations galore through Merlin’s spine, and his entire body. Merlin gasps suddenly against his touch, and everything has to be done to stop Arthur from doing something completely irrational. 

Merlin takes this as a challenge, and somehow shifts closer, resting completely on Arthur. He kisses and nips and bites and keeps going, all along Arthur’s neck until he gets bored, and then moves to Arthur’s collarbone and chest, pulling at the laces at the front of the Prince’s shirt to reach farther, to reach sensitive skin. Arthur gasps against Merlin’s hair, and Merlin laughs in return. 

Arthur sighs in frustration, and pushes Merlin back, aggressively so. Merlin suddenly becomes shy and conscious. 

“I’m sorry, did I go too far? Should I not have-” he begins, panicked, slightly.

“Shut up, Merlin.” Is Arthur’s grumbled reply, as he holds Merlin by the shoulders, and pushes him back slightly, kissing his mouth as he does so. He does not wait for Merlin to kiss back, and instead moves swiftly along to Merlin’s neck, kissing like Merlin had done a minute before. He is just grazing, touching at first. Smiling into Merlin’s neck as he teases, Arthur enjoys the way Merlin’s hands pull slightly at his hair as he gasps, and Merlin’s slightly rumbling voice as he tells Arthur to “please just get on with it, you clotpole.”

Arthur then kisses properly, and begins doing what Merlin was doing, nipping and biting at the skin, marking it with his mouth, claiming Merlin as his own. Merlin’s gasps and moans send shivers through Arthur’s body. Merlin lets out a practically pleasured sounding sound, and Arthur opens his eyes properly, and pulls back, to appreciate the way Merlin’s skin looks, when-

The chair is floating. And it's glowing . Merlin is still sitting there, waiting for Arthur to move again, to do something. When Arthur doesn’t, Merlin opens his eyes, and they’re gold. They are glowing gold. The true sign of a sorcerer.

Merlin notices, and gasps, this time in shock and fear, his eyes turning back to blue as the chair falls back to the ground. Merlin jumps back, landing on his back and letting out a noise of pain. His eyes are already tearing up, and he looks terrified of what Arthur may do to him. Arthur is still sitting there, confused, thinking of it all.

“You’re a sorcerer,” it is not a question, it is a statement. Not an accusation, either.

Merlin’s eyes are already tearing up. “I…” he takes a breath. “I am. But I swear! I only used it for you, Arthur! Only you. Never to hurt you, just help, I never-” His tears are falling so intensely. “Please don’t kill me. Please. I just wanted to protect you, I swear to Gods. I will leave, if you want. I will never come back, I-”

“Merlin,” Arthur’s voice is calm, collected. His question is hesitant thought, almost scared, almost as if he does not wish to hear the answer, he asks, “Did you enchant me? To love you?”

Merlin blinks, and looks offended beyond reasonable. “I would not dare,” he says, quiet and sure, his tears not stopping his answer, “to take someone’s free will away from them. You loved me on your own, as have I loved you.”

Arthur sighs, as if this was the answer he wanted. “Thank you.”

Merlin stares again, and waits. Arthur says nothing, and stares at him back. Then, he says, “do you wish to continue, or-”

“You’re not banishing me?”

Arthur looks confused beyond reason. “What? No,” his voice has a tone of obviousness behind it, like Merlin should know the answer. “I can’t. You said you did not enchant me, and did nothing but help me, so-”

“But your father-”

“Must not know. Yes, I am aware. I agree.”

Merlin stares, and Arthur raises an eyebrow back at him. He then opens his arms, offering them to Merlin again, who smiles and gets up, and slips into Arthur’s arms once again. 

They are holding, tightly, onto each other.