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Merlin had swept unannounced and unwanted into Arthur’s world one bright spring morning, bold as brass, and promptly turned a perfectly ordered life upside down, transforming into a world of colour something that had been severely monochrome. Stark. Cold and lonely.
Everyone thought Merlin was lovely, with his puppy dog eyes and goofy grin, but Arthur knew better because Merlin was not the least bit lovely. Far from it. He used Arthur’s cupboards, uninvited, to store jars filled with newt eyes and chicken livers and pickled walnuts when he had acres of perfectly good space in Gaius’ quarters, and presented him with a family of mummified field mice wearing tiny straw hats as if this was something Arthur should be thrilled with.
He was a shameless gossip, mocked Arthur in front of all his friends and most of the court and showed no respect for his elders or betters. He broke things because he was clumsy, pilled wine all over Arthur’s favourite shirts, and always made his bath water too hot, and once he gave Lady Gwyneth a nasty case of boils and chin whiskers simply because she’d dared to complement Arthur one sultry summer’s eve on his swordplay.
Yet he was also kind and tender and fearless in the face of adversity, and every time his eyes glowed more gold than the sun, a bit more of Arthur’s padlocked heart was chipped away at. Merlin was a terrible menace and Arthur loved him, deeply and irrevocably.
How could you not love someone so self-sacrificing in the face of danger.
Years of being silently driven mad passed, spent watching Merlin fall in and out of love, and flirting with Gwaine and Gwen. Arthur had long accepted his fate, that of desiring a man who would never return his affections, which made the alternative to ending this wallowing in misery, to tell Merlin how he felt, unimaginable.
So this lonely path he chose to walk involved a lot of suffering in stoic silence, even as visiting nobles who fancied their chances with Camelot’s very own Court Sorcerer, made open play for Merlin. It was a miracle he hadn’t ground his teeth down to stubs by now.
Constantly having to rebuild a shattered heart took its toll though, because Arthur was only human, after all. And so after years of moping and putting a brave face on things, in the end all it took to bring his walls tumbling down around him like a house built on sand, was a hip bump.
Although perhaps that was not entirely fair. Preceding the collision with a slightly bony Merlin, there’d been the usual covert watching during the evening’s festivities, monitoring what Merlin was doing, and more pertinently, with whom (the usual: spilling soup in Lord Gareth’s lap, giggling with Morgana and Guinevere like naughty schoolchildren, setting the central flower arrangement on fire and generally behaving like he was the village idiot instead of the most powerful sorcerers to ever live.) And following the out-of-the-corner-of his-eyes surveillance came the usual touches because of course Merlin was tactile. He’d brushed invisible crumbs off Arthur’s lap, straightened Arthur’s crown, whispered warm-breathed snippets of salacious kitchen gossip into his ear. The usual, nothing out of the ordinary.
But all night it had gone on, the touching and the comments and the bright eyed amusement for Arthur’s benefit only until Arthur felt like his insides were twisted in knots. He drank to numb his feelings but all it did was make him feel woozy.
He’d called it an early night, Merlin – faithful, loyal - instantly by his side as he bid his sister, Guinevere and the knights farewell, and swept from the room feeling even more brittle and broken hearted than usual.
“Are you feeling alright,” Merlin said, head tilted on one side, concern in too blue eyes. “You’ve been off all evening.” He accompanied those words with another hip bump, this one slower and more linger-y.
Arthur came to a halt and before he could second guess himself, he said three tiny words, each of them insignificant in isolation but now, wrapped up together, they combined to place his fate - his future happiness - firmly in Merlin’s hands.
“I want you.”
And gods, even as his heart felt like it was going to beat a way out of his chest, it felt so freeing to finally be able to say it, between harsh breaths, to the man who he loved, who was standing there, all shadow and sharp angles and so beautiful it almost hurt to look at him.
Merlin said not a word in return, his returning gaze piercing and unwavering as it settled on Arthur’s face. Unnerved by the uncharacteristic silence, dread replaced the adrenalin rushing through Arthur’s veins. Christ but he’d made a pig’s ear of this. He was thinking about making a subtle dash for his chambers and safe harbour when Merlin spoke.
“You’re not thinking of running away are you?”
Arthur wetted dry lips. “Do you see me running?” He sounded braver than he felt, and risked another quick glance over his shoulder.
Merlin drifted closer. “No, I don’t” he said softly. The slight height advantage as Merlin stepped into Arthur’s space forced him to look up. He couldn’t read the look in Merlin’s eyes as they stared at each other for another five febrile seconds. “Unless you only say these things when you’re drunk and regret them immediately afterwards.”
“Merlin,” said Arthur helplessly, and then Merlin surged forward to meet him and he found himself being ruthlessly kissed.
The kiss successfully made Arthur’s head go quiet, the only thing it turned out that was able to end the relentless second guessing and doubts. Merlin had a hand in his hair, went there immediately and the sensation prickled deliciously, from his scalp all the way to the base of his spine. Instinct kicked in then and Arthur found himself giving as good as he got, his own hands sliding helplessly into Merlin’s messy hair to better hold him in place.
Merlin started to make delicious little sounds that made Arthur’s toes curl and his cock harden. Only when he thought his lungs might explode did he pull away but only so that he could nibble on Merlin’s fleshy earlobe before trailing his lips down to suck on that tantalising hint of soft pale neck and really it was a crime to have it hidden behind those hideous Merlin was so attached to.
A judicious use of teeth and tongue and lips and mouth soon had Merlin whimpering. It was every fantasy Arthur had ever had coming to life. Between licks and bites he began to whisper into the crook of Merlin’s shoulder all the things he’d so carefully been keeping bottled up.
It was like a river bursting its banks.
“I know that you use magic to protect me and keep Camelot from harm, even though you hid it from me for years.” He tugged on Merlin’s hair to emphasise each point, loving how soft it was beneath his hands. “Perhaps you should use it to sort this crow’s nest out.”
Merlin snorted softly and Arthur grabbed a handful of it again, forcing Merlin’s head up until their noses brushed against each other. He saw the same want he felt reflected in Merlin’s eyes.
Christ, how he wanted Merlin, had wanted him for so long. Even now, he couldn’t quite believe he actually had him.
“Your writing looks like a drunken spider got into the ink well.” He bent to suck a bruise onto the side of Merlin’s neck, and leaned back to admire his handiwork. Satisfied, he trailed his lips northwards.
“You think you need to solve the world’s problems,” he whispered into Merlin’s partly open mouth, taking a moment to swirl his tongue deep. “Your neckerchiefs are truly an eyesore and need to be burned.”
He sensed the moment when it clicked with Merlin that Arthur was listing all the things Merlin did that drove him mad; Merlin pulled away and made a show at a looking offended that came off as amused instead, before with darkening eyes he surged up against Arthur, kissing him just as hard.
They did a small dance in the corridor, with Arthur finally winning the upper hand, walking Merlin backwards until he found himself pressed up against the wall, flickering flames in the sconce making him look otherworldly. Arthur found himself staring, lust filling his belly, and Merlin took unfair advantage of his momentary distraction to reverse their positions. Arthur felt strands of his hair snagging on the stone, lean torso up hard against him, both of them panting as if they’d run a race.
When Merlin pulled back, he cupped Arthur’s face in his hands. “You made me hard the first time we met, when you swung that mace at me. I hated you for being cruel and arrogant but for years I used the memory of how it felt to be pulled tight up against your chest when I needed to find release.”
Hands slid down Arthur’s flank to tug his shirt out of his breaches and glided over the warm skin of his back. Arthur let his eyes flutter shut.
“You never punished me for keeping my magic a secret even though I know my lies hurt you,” he said, hands dropping lower to palm Arthur’s arse. “You were kind to Morgana when she was so afraid of her powers.” Merlin lifted his head to suck a matching bruise onto Arthur’s shoulder, ignoring Arthur’s impossible to hold in hiss of pleasure.
“You make me laugh like no other. You’re loyal to a fault. You trust too easily.”
Merlin slapped away Arthur’s fingers as he reached to undo his shirt laces. “Let me do that, my lord,” he said, and fuck if that wasn’t the hottest thing Merlin had ever said to him. “Oh, and lest we forget, you’re stupidly competitive and a very sore loser.”
The shirt fluttered to the floor.
Arthur couldn’t keep his laughter held down any longer. Where was the lie, after all? He reached up to touch the leather necklace with the rabbit’s foot he’d gone back to buy after Merlin had admired it one market day.
“And you’re ridiculously sentimental.” Arthur ran his fingers underneath the cord, enjoying the way Merlin’s pulse jumped. “I knew you liked the presents I bought you.”
Merlin’s eyes sparkled. “Yes well. Considering how you’re the king and filthy rich, you could at least have bought me something with a gemstone.” He pouted dramatically. “You gave Morgana that solid silver bangle, the one studded with garnets, remember? And what about those crystal glasses you bought for Gwen and Lancelot as a wedding gift.”
Arthur pulled Merlin in by the belt of his trousers and Merlin almost got Arthur’s shirt stuck over his head in his eager quest for bare skin.
“I never had you down as materialistic. Greedy.”
“Not for your money, never for that,” whispered Merlin, and Arthur’s heart beat a complicated rhythm. They kissed again, Arthur cradling the back of Merlin’s head, until Merlin pulled away reluctantly. Arthur chased the kiss, impatient, but Merlin placed a calming hand on his chest.
“Before we take this any further, there’s one thing I need to say to you.”
Arthur nodded, suddenly wary. “Go on.”
“I’ll understand if you want to keep us secret. You’ve only been on the throne a short while and the Court may not take kindly to me being your —"
Relief flooded his veins. “Merlin. Merlin. You mean everything to me, and if you don’t know it after everything we’ve said and done tonight, then I don’t know what else I can do to convince you to believe me.”
Merlin’s eyes looked damp.
“Come here, you idiot.” Arthur pulled Merlin in close. “Some of the old guard on the Council might take a bit of convincing that taking you as my consort wouldn’t harm the succession but they like and trust you, Merlin. And the doubters among them respect Leon and fear Morgana and what they say will carry more weight than the rest of the Court combined.”
“Consort?” Merlin sounded so hopeful Arthur had to press a kiss to his brow.
“Do you need to ask? Of course my Consort. I’m not ashamed of you, Merlin.”
Merlin looked like he couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing.
“And you’re sure you want to do this, with me, now,” he probed. “It’s very soon to decide that.”
If Merlin only knew the half of it; just how long Arthur had had to come up with this plan, during the dark hours before daybreak. He bit down on his lip to keep his laugh at bay. He’d tell Merlin soon enough why he was amused, but not just yet.
“Never doubt me, again Merlin. I’m only sorry it’s taken this long for me to be open with you...”
Merlin’s laugh was low and soft. Arthur tucked his chin into the curve of Merlin’s neck and breathed him in.
“Do you want to know why I treated you so badly, for so long?”
Merlin tilted his head so their eyes could meet. Gods but Merlin was so lovely like this.
“Er. Because I was a terrible manservant?”
Arthur smiled indulgently now he knew where they stood with each other. “Well, that goes without saying. But actually -no. Love and hate, it’s a fine line, so I’ve been told. I desired you for so long, even when I thought I loathed you. And then, when you saved my life after the questing beast attacked me, everything changed irrevocably, and I didn’t know a better way to cover up my feelings for you. I’m sorry. I treated you very badly when you deserved nothing but kindness.”
“Why on earth didn’t you say anything then, you giant clotpole? That was close on two years ago. Think of all the time we’ve wasted.”
Arthur looked down at the floor for a moment before lifting his gaze to land of Merlin’s face. “I thought you weren’t an option. I remember how devasted you were after Freya died.”
“Freya was special, but since then there’s been nobody else or nobody that mattered. It’s hard to start up a relationship with someone when you’re in love with someone else.” Merlin grinned at him, beginning to tug at the ties holding up Arthur’s breeches. “Do you still think that?”
Arthur’s laugh was soft and delighted.
“Not any longer, no.” He looked around them. “Although when I said I was happy to not have us keep this a secret, I didn’t exactly have being this public in mind, unless it’s a particular kink of yours I need to know about?”
Merlin threw him a cheeky grin that was all promise and bent over to pick up their discarded clothes. Grabbing Arthur’s hand he started to pull Arthur along the corridor.
“Oh, Arthur. You have no idea.”
*
Merlin had hated Arthur from the moment he first met him. Arthur was arrogant and shallow as a summer puddle. Pig-headed, stubborn and as subtle as a bull in a cowshed. He thought pork pies were exotic. He didn’t know the meaning of picking up after himself.
He never knew when to give up, be it trying to outwit Morgana or accept defeat at the hand of another on the training field. He was quick to anger but luckily had a terrible aim when throwing things at Merlin’s head.
He’d look fuckable dressed in a sack let alone a Pendragon-red cloak and gold crown.
Just shut up, Merlin, he’d say, every time Merlin complained about how long it was taking Arthur to make a kill on a hunt. Just deal with it, he said, every time a sorcerer popped up to kill them or enchant them.
He’d never imagined, even in wildest dreams, that a man who looked like Arthur could ever even look at a man who looked like him and want to kiss him, let alone fall in love.
And yet. And yet.