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“Merlin!” Merlin heard Arthur howl in his typical way. He rolled his eyes at Dindrane, pleased to see she didn’t look as nervous as she used to before whenever Arthur blasted his way through with all the subtlety of an unnerved horse.
“You should probably go see what he wants, Master,” she said instead, lazily flicking her hands so the doves switched to bees.
“Maybe later, when I’m in the mood to,” he grinned, leaning back. “Your illusions still need work. If I look closely, especially from behind, I can see that they’re too shadowy to be real.”
Dindrane sighed, pouting. “It’s hard. I don’t get how you can make perfect illusions of things you’ve never even seen.”
Merlin shrugged. He’d given up understanding his powers a long time ago. “I am Emrys, after all.”
“MERLIN!” Arthur’s voice sounded closer this time.
“Isn’t Emrys supposed to always be at the service to his king?” She asked amusedly, eyebrows furrowed. Her illusion slowly became more substantial.
“Whoever wrote those prophecies obviously didn’t predict how much of an annoying prat he’d be,” Merlin answered without any remorse, prompting a laugh. “Visualize every detail, Dindrane. Down to the sheen of their wings. We’ll work on illusions for the rest of the week, and then move onto healing.” He concluded the lesson, standing up.
“Thank you, Master.” She replied, standing up and grinning at him.
He smiled softly at her. “I’ve told you; you can call me Merlin.”
She laughed. “I’m sorry, but it was hard enough to stop calling you Your Majesty. I can’t really go below Master for the King’s Consort.”
“At least you’re not calling me Queen,” Merlin snorted, gathering up his papers and setting it on his table to deal with later. He couldn’t say he was upset at being able to put it off. He loved being Court Sorcerer and Arthur and Gwen’s consort, but the jobs came with way too much paperwork.
Dindrane giggled. “People call you Queen?”
“Unfortunately, they do,” A very familiar voice drawled. “Though apparently he can’t be bothered to come when the actual Queen and King are calling him.”
Merlin turned and grinned sheepishly. “Hi, Arthur.”
Arthur looked exasperatedly fond. “Hello, Merlin. Good to see you, Dindrane.” He acknowledged Merlin’s apprentice, who squeaked and looked like she was about to turn herself invisible accidentally.
“Y-you too Your Majesty,” she stammered. “I’ll – um. I’ll see you tomorrow, Master?”
Merlin nodded, still focused on the mess of his table, waving a hand holding a scroll, “Yep. Don’t forget to practice. We’ll meet on the Casting Grounds.”
“Okay. Thank you, Master.”
He heard her leave, but didn’t turn until arms wrapped around his waist abruptly, startling him.
“So what exactly ranks above your husband, the King of Albion?” Arthur asked, leaning his head on his shoulder and pressing light kisses on his neck. It sent a shiver down his spine. It wasn’t that he and Arthur weren’t physically intimate – for all that Merlin didn’t feel attraction, he loved intimacy as long as it was with Arthur and Gwen, or Freya. But Arthur was usually this casually affectionate only with Gwen. His and Merlin’s relationship leaned more towards the hot-and-heavy type, with banter and angering one another.
“Don’t call yourself the King of Albion, you’re only the leader,” he answered automatically.
“Same thing,” Arthur dismissed. “The other kings and queens listen to what I have to say, and apply it. They acknowledge me as the head.”
“Yeah, but that title won’t inflate your already large head and ego,” Merlin teased, forcing his hands to get back to working.
“You know what else doesn’t inflate my head? The fact that you come late when we’re meant to be decorating the nursery,” Arthur said dryly.
“Oh,” Merlin said, and his heart pounded. “Oh, Arthur, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. It’s just that Dindrane is progressing so well, and I lost track of the time—”
“I get it, Merlin, stop rambling,” he said, and his smirk softened into a smile. His thumb came up to brush the swell of Merlin’s cheek. He blinked up at him. “Put the papers down already, will you?”
“Why?” Merlin breathed. “Don’t want to kiss me while I’m holding onto work? D’you think you can’t distract me from it?”
Arthur scoffed. “Oh, I think I’m plenty distracting.”
“Yeah?”
“That sounds like a challenge, Merlin.”
There was a pause. And some scuffing. “Did it? How interesting.”
They collided with bruising force, kissing as though their lives depended on it. Arthur backed Merlin to the desk, kissing down his jaw and neck, and he was barely able to gasp out a spell to send his things to the couch before Arthur hoisted him onto the table, kissing him again.
“Distracting enough?” Arthur asked. He somehow managed to combine the authoritative look with the just-been-snogged one.
“Shut up, prat.” Merlin tugged him again, but before they could get to it, the sound of high-heels clacking against the stone floors resounded through the room.
Gwen pulled the doors open, obviously noting the disheveled state of both men. “If it isn’t my beloved husbands leaving me alone to go off and kiss like teenagers,” she said drily.
“Sorry, Gwen,” Merlin said cheekily. “I got held up with Dindrane and I was just about to come when Arthur distracted me.”
Arthur’s mouth fell open in betrayal. Gwen’s angry look softened, but she didn’t take her hands off her hips. “Of course you were, Merlin. Arthur, what do you have to say for yourself? You went to get him, not ravage him.”
“If we could ever get to the ravaging part,” Arthur muttered under his breath. Merlin elbowed him. “Er. That is to say, I mean, it was only a moment. We were coming up.”
Gwen hummed. “I don’t believe you.”
“You believed Merlin!” Arthur sputtered indignantly.
“Because Merlin’s story is believable, while yours isn’t,” Gwen replied, crossing her arms. Merlin sighed in relief. She was less mad, then. A pregnant wife wasn’t someone you wanted angry at you, even if Merlin was loads better than Arthur at apologizing and looking up at her with wide, innocent eyes that had never seen anything wrong and making it up to her.
“No, it’s because you love him more than me,” Arthur complained petulantly. “The two of you always gang up on me!”
“Us?” Merlin said, making the afore mentioned wide eyes. “Never!”
Gwen nodded vehemently. “What he said.”
Arthur pointed triumphantly. “See! Right now! You just did it again!”
Both of his partners laughed, going up and kissing him on the cheek.
“I’m still angry at both of you,” Gwen stated firmly.
“Of course you are, Guinevere,” Arthur said placatingly. “Shall we go up and decorate the nursery now?”
“Don’t say that just to get me off-topic!” Gwen snapped.
“Or we could not,” Merlin said, backtracking hurriedly.
Gwen closed her eyes, sighing. “Sorry. Of course we should. I’m just … so stressed. Elyan’s still out on patrol today, and the painters have been bothering me about what mosaic we want on the walls of the nursery—”
“They’ve been bothering you?” Arthur said. “I’ll fire them.”
“I vote for the dragon one,” Merlin said simultaneously. “Aithusa, particularly, not Kilgharrah the old cryptic asshole.” He looked at his husband, raising an eyebrow to imitate Gaius’ infamous gesture. “Arthur, you don’t need to fire everyone who irritates us.”
“Of course I do,” the king replied. “My partners – and my child—” his eyes softened as he looked at Gwen’s swelling stomach, “Deserve the best.”
“And we’ll get it,” Gwen said, smiling. She leaned her head on Arthur’s shoulder. Her hand came to rest protectively on her stomach. “They’ll certainly have the best fathers ever.”
“Are you sure you don’t want to test for paternity?” Merlin asked dubiously, looking between his spouses.
“Yes, of course!” Gwen exclaimed. “It doesn’t matter who’s the child’s father biologically. You’ll both be their parents.”
“But the council, and the court—”
“Even if we did do the test and they turned out not to be mine, the Council knows I’d still declare them adopted and name them my heir,” Arthur said impatiently. “They know better than to object.” He had a dark look on his face. Merlin and Gwen exchanged a look. Morgana and their father’s refusal to acknowledge her as his daughter while he was still alive was still a sore topic for him. They knew Arthur struggled with the thought of being like the father he’d idolized when he was a child – distant and cruel, openly loving only on occasions. “Besides, it’d be fairly obvious in a couple years. Heaven knows Merlin’s poor children would inherit his ears.”
“Hey!” Merlin cried. “They’d get to be a dragonlord too. How cool is that?”
“Not as cool as being royalty.”
“You keep telling yourself that.”
“I think they’re cute,” Gwen defended, interrupting. “And I know for a fact that you do too.”
Merlin laughed, turning on his husband gleefully. “You do?”
“No, I don’t!” Arthur said. “Guinevere!”
“Stop lying, Arthur,” Gwen tutted.
“Yeah, Arthur, don’t you remember being raked over the coals for that five minutes ago?” Merlin teased.
“And the two of you are doing it again,” Arthur said mournfully, shaking his head.
“Sorry, love,” Gwen laughed, leaning up and kissing him. Merlin watched, smiling. “But I’m afraid we’ll keep doing it.”
“I hate both of you,” Arthur sighed, but he was smiling. “And Merlin – there’s no way my child is having Aithusa on the walls of their nursery. The real thing’s a handful enough.”
“She’s sweet!” Merlin defended his first-born.
“She nearly ripped off Sir Rodney’s hand yesterday. And ruined the tiles of the roof. Again.”
“Sir Rodney was being terrible,” Gwen said. “Aithusa was right.”
“And it’s not like we can’t afford to replace the tiles,” Merlin said logically. “Since, you know. We rule the kingdom.”
“That is absolutely not the point, Merlin—”
“Besides, what else would you want for a mosaic in our kid’s room anyway?” Gwen asked.
“The forest,” Arthur said dreamily. “The greenery, the shrubs, the crouching, the waiting, the swiftness—”
“I swear, if you’re saying that hunting would be a better thing to display on the walls of a nursery than a dragon, you clotpole—”
“Still not a word, Merlin, are you really going to teach our child things like that?”
“You think they’ll come to a compromise?” Gwen asked the air. There was a silence, and she considered it carefully. “Nope. I don’t either. Best stop them now, then.”
“I’m going to the nursery,” she declared, picking up her skirts. “Feel free to join me when you’re done with your bickering *cough* foreplay.”
She started off, and immediately heard scrambling.
“I’m coming! Wait up, Gwen!”
“Guinevere, be careful! Wait for us!”
Smiling, she walked onto the nursery, her husbands falling into step with her, as always.