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A blacksmith’s daughter turned queen was all very romantic on paper, but Merlin knew better than to get caught up in romance. It was clear to him now that neither Gwen nor Arthur had been prepared for the realities of their marriage. The glares of other servants: Gwen’s former friends now bitterly subservient to her. The gossip of visiting nobles: “you know she used to be his maid?” “There must be a suspiciously premature heir on the way.” “What a slut.” Even Arthur could be cruel in his own way: his passive aggressive ‘reminders’ of royal etiquette, the ignorance with which he complained about the trivial grievances of his privileged life with no regard for her own circumstances. Lancelot had always been there for her in those moments: an ear to listen, a shoulder to cry on. He was too kind for his own good. Arthur had seen them holding hands under the table during a banquet, it was the innocence of it that had hurt him the most. Sex was sex, but this was something more – romantic, emotional, intangible. But then, love had always been intangible to Arthur.
Discussions of Gwen had slowly subsided in the four months since she had left (a fact which Merlin was quietly grateful for). Arthur’s anger had quickly mutated into sadness, just as fierce and even harder to tame. As always, Merlin felt compelled to console his friend, but he couldn’t bring himself to place the blame on Gwen. He still considered her one of his closest friends, and whilst he didn’t understand how anyone could not be in love with Arthur, he certainly sympathised with her situation. Merlin resided himself to being there for Arthur in any way that he could; he stayed in his chambers well into the evenings most nights, just so he wouldn’t feel alone. Sometimes they would play tavern games or practice exercises for training the next morning. Other times they would have serious discussions of court matters that inevitably divulged into incomprehensible banter. But most often, Merlin felt the need to maintain a pretence for his presence. He had polished his master’s armour, mopped the floors, dusted the furniture, and cleaned the windows more times in the past few months than the rest of his life combined.
This work felt necessary to him, to maintain the boundaries of their relationship. Merlin often pictured what a different kind of relationship with Arthur would look like, but he assured himself that these fantasies should remain at just that. Like the fierce heat of the sun, Arthur was best kept at a distance. Merlin was accustomed to finding shelter in the shadows: he had been hiding his magic all his life. But from the moment he met Arthur, the seed of that one secret had sprouted, branching into a web of lies – feeding from the energy of the sun, all the while shielding him from it. From the safety of darkness, Merlin could admire how Arthur’s warmth melted the cold hearts of men, how he bathed the world in a golden glow. His heart skipped a beat at flashes of blinding light between the branches: when he passed Arthur a goblet and their fingers touched, those emotional declarations before a battle, when Merlin undressed him and saw exposed flesh in his peripheral vision – always peripheral. Yes, that was enough to sustain him. Better to savour those rare glimpses of sunlight than to risk getting burned, or worse, blinded by the light.
“You know what I still don’t understand?” Arthur said one evening, sitting on the edge of the bed.
Night was rapidly falling and Merlin was running out of excuses to stay in the king’s chambers. Arthur seemed to be equally aware of this fact and had spent the previous few hours kindly concocting excuses for him, insisting that his sword could always be a little sharper and really March wasn’t too early to begin preparing his summer clothes.
“It’d be easier to list things you do understand,” Merlin replied, as he hung Arthur’s freshly washed shirts in the wardrobe.
“Shut up, I’m serious,” Arthur said, no real anger in his voice.
Merlin closed the wardrobe door and turned to look at him. His face could be carved of stone: handsome and refined, yet cold and stoic. Merlin took slow, hesitant steps towards him.
“All my life, I’ve been bound by duty,” Arthur explained. “Sometimes I feel like I have no choice of my own, everything I do is determined by other people’s expectations of me. And it’s fine, I’m used to it, I manage. Guinevere only had one duty: the vow that she made to me on our wedding day. And she couldn’t even follow that,” Arthur said, his voice wavering on the last sentence.
“Well, love is a fearsome beast,” Merlin spoke cautiously. “It can change your priorities, make you overlook responsibilities, relationships… destiny,” his throat felt suddenly dry, “sacrifice it all for love.”
“You think I don’t know that? That’s what I did when I married Gwen. I risked so much to be with her but I didn’t care. I loved her and that was enough,” he argued.
“I suppose… that’s how she feels about Lancelot.” Every word from Merlin’s mouth was like a step on a tightrope, a precarious balance of conflicting loyalties.
“No, It’s not the same,” Arthur spoke with conviction, despite seemingly not knowing exactly what his argument was. After a moment of introspection, he continued, “Even with Gwen, there were some duties I had to uphold; I knew that I needed to have a wife and be loyal to her. I understand the power of love, yes. But I also understand the value of marriage. Fidelity.”
Merlin was an arm’s reach from Arthur now. He wrapped a hand around a post of the bed, leaning ever so slightly down towards him.
“And it’s not like I haven’t had… temptations,” Arthur muttered, no longer daring to meet Merlin’s eye. “But I ignored it because I knew that I had to; for her, for Camelot, for myself.” He covered his mouth with a clenched fist, resembling a statue once more.
“What are you saying? What temptations?” Merlin curled his lips into a cheeky smirk, hoping it would conceal his lingering jealousy.
Merlin had supported Arthur and Gwen together, as he loved them both so much that he didn’t think either could do better (save for Lancelot, Merlin must admit that he himself was not immune to his charms). But the idea of Arthur loving anyone else – one of those ditsy princesses or stuck up noblewomen – sprouted thick green vines of envy around his chest. He knew exactly how much love Arthur deserved and refused to let him settle for less. “Don’t you think that’s a little arrogant?” Gaius’ voice crept into his mind. Yes, Merlin answered, arrogant, selfish, manipulative. Yet, Arthur had always been able to skew his moral compass. Hell, Arthur was his moral compass, his direction, his North Star. Merlin would rather keep his eyes fixed on that distant glimmer of light and follow it to his death, than risk losing sight of it and veering off course. He would destroy any obstacles in his path. He had to know to whom his enchantment of poorly timed burps or warts in unfortunate places should be addressed.
“Do you have feelings for someone?”
Arthur looked panged with guilt, like a child accused of stealing his sister’s toy. “Maybe,” he reclined back on the bed, evading Merlin’s gaze. “It doesn’t matter, nothing can ever come of it.”
“That’s what you said about Gwen.”
“And look where that got me.”
“Arthur, you deserve to be loved. You shouldn’t deny yourself that.”
“I don’t even know if… the one I love feels the same about me.” Arthur fiddled with the hem of his nightshirt.
“You’ve got to be joking. You’re the bloody king of Camelot! Not to mention incredibly brave, loyal, honest, and admittedly… handsome. Anyone would be lucky to have you.” Merlin stumbled over his words, as if he had been running towards a cliffside and skid to a halt just before falling into treacherous waters.
“You really think so?” Arthur pulled his body back up, elbows leaning on his knees.
Merlin restrained from speaking further, afraid of what the next words out of his mouth would be. He opted instead to give Arthur a subtle nod, the corners of his mouth retreated into dimples, somewhere between a smile and a frown. He was met with an expression that he had only seen before in the rare moments when Arthur’s father had told him he was proud of him: a yearning for approval. Though it now seemed tinged with something else that Merlin was too afraid to name.
Their eyes met like knights at the beginning of a tourney. Trying to anticipate their opponent’s move, both too afraid to be the first to act. Merlin surrendered. His eyes darted towards the floor, before slowly returning to Arthur, his previous strategy abandoned. Merlin replaced his verbal sword with a blunt sparring stick – merely a gentle prod, he didn’t want to hurt anyone. Although he was all too aware that the blade of Arthur’s words would still cut him deep.
“So, who’s the lucky lady?” Merlin nudged his shoulder playfully.
Arthur said nothing. He simply laughed and shook his head.
“Come on, you’ll have to tell me. I honestly can’t think of who it could be,” Merlin teased. It was all too easy for him to hide behind the façade of friendly banter, as if his thoughts of Arthur were incidental and inconsequential, rather than an endless expanse across his past, present and future. As if Arthur was anything less than everything to him. “I mean, I’m with you basically all the time and you barely even talk to any women. How could you have fallen in love with someone without me knowing about it?”
He grinned. “Because, Merlin,” he launched himself off the bed and turned towards him, “as I am so often telling you, you’re an idiot.”
Arthur reached out to cradle a sharp cheekbone. Merlin’s lips parted slightly in shock. Arthur took the opportunity to press his own lips to them. Merlin responded instinctively, before his brain could fathom what was happening. He spread an outstretched hand across Arthur’s chest, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath thin linen. A hand pulled Merlin closer by the nape of his neck. He leaned deeper into the kiss, as if Arthur’s lips were the only thing tethering him to reality.
Gods, Arthur’s lips. The same lips that sealed tightly to prevent a smirk from escaping whenever Merlin whispered a crude remark into his ear at a banquet. Arthur’s tongue. The same tongue that formed a litany of uncreative variations upon ‘fool’, ‘idiot’ and ‘half-wit’ whenever Merlin made a mistake. Arthur’s hands. The same hands that threw things at him whenever he overstepped a boundary. King Arthur. The same King Arthur that still viewed sorcery as a crime punishable by death.
If Arthur was the sun, then Merlin was Icarus. Whatever flight of fancy had allowed him to get this far was rapidly melting. A violent heat radiated through his skin straight to his core, burning him from the inside out. He felt utterly vulnerable and fragile, like parchment in a fire, disintegrating into ash.
Merlin pulled away with a hitched breath. His hand on Arthur’s chest firmed, pushing rather than holding.
“Why are you doing this?” Merlin’s voice quavered. His eyebrows drew together, like two swords crossed over a doorway, guarding.
“Because I want to,” Arthur responded hesitantly, though Merlin couldn’t tell whose intentions he was in doubt of: Merlin’s or his own. Arthur’s hand hovered over his face, barely grazing.
“Are you sure-” Merlin veered from his touch, “Are you sure it’s not just because you miss Gwen and– and you’re lonely, and you know that I’ll do anything for you?” His eyes began to well with hot tears as Arthur stared at him blankly. “That wouldn’t be fair. Not when you know how I feel about you,” his voice came out in rasps as his throat began to close up.
Arthur groaned in frustration and cried out, “God, did you listen to a single thing I just said?” He spun on his heels and flung himself dramatically onto the bed. “You’re so fucking thick. After all this time, how could you honestly think–” he cut himself off. But the bemused, almost mocking sneer on his face seemed to finish the sentence for him.
Merlin had been prepared for Arthur to cut him; he had accepted long ago that he was willing to endure any level of pain for Arthur’s sake. But he had forgotten that the Once and Future King wielded Excalibur, he was capable of inflicting wounds that could not heal. Destroying his relationship with Arthur meant destroying his destiny. Kilgharrah had warned him of this, he was always letting his ideals obscure reality. Merlin was a sorcerer, Arthur was a king, he was lucky they were even friends, anything else was pure delusion. Arthur was right, how could he possibly think that this could be anything but a selfish prick seeking comfort in his pathetically devoted servant.
“I suppose I was right about one thing then,” Merlin forced himself to speak. “I’m sorry, sire, for everything.” He turned to leave, trying his best to suppress his sobs until he was safely out of Arthur’s sight.
“No, Merlin, wait!” Arthur stumbled off the bed, falling to his knees in front of him. He reached for Merlin’s hand, perhaps only to break his fall, but he didn’t let go. As Arthur climbed back up to his feet, he held Merlin’s hand firmly between both of his own. “I thought you understood. I’m sorry, I’m not good with words…” He sighed and took a deep breath. “I was talking about you, before. You’re the– the one that I love.”
“What?” was the only word Merlin was capable of forming.
Arthur scrunched his face and shook his head, as if he could hardly believe what he was saying, “I have tried to deny my feelings for you for years.” He swallowed a lump in his throat. “But I’ve just realised, everyone who placed these expectations on me, everything that was holding me back is gone.” He spoke quickly now, fishing the words directly from his heart before his brain had a chance to intervene. “You are the most important person left in my life,” he placed a gentle hand on Merlin’s shoulder, “and I want you, I want all of you.”
Merlin let out a sob that soon transformed into an elated laugh. The movement of his cheeks caused the tears in his eyes to swell and cascade down his face. Washing away the sadness with joy.
“That wasn’t that hard to say now, was it?” he whispered.
“I suppose I’ve always been more of a man of action,” Arthur said under his breath. He finally let go of Merlin’s hand, only to reach for his waist.
“So am I.”
Merlin flung himself at Arthur, so forcefully that he almost knocked him backwards. Both his hands reached for broad shoulders, traversing muscular arms. Arthur pulled him closer by the small of his back. Merlin sucked at Arthur’s mouth as if he were the only source of air. Breathing him in until his lungs, his brain, his heart, his entire body was full of him. Arthur’s tongue plunged between his lips, Merlin savoured the taste and wondered how he hadn’t starved without it. He combed through golden hair with his fingers, tugging, pulling. Strong hands roamed across Merlin’s back, dragging across fabric and digging into skin.
After a game of push and pull, they stumbled towards the bed. Arthur hit the bedframe with the back of his legs and half fell on to it, causing them to break apart. Although Merlin’s lips mourned the absence of Arthur’s, his eyes revelled at the sight of his face, flustered and desperate. Merlin climbed over him, straddling Arthur’s hips. Arthur sat up to meet him, pulling him in for another searing kiss. Merlin licked and lapped into his mouth while his hands scavenged ravenously for any skin he could reach. Arthur’s lips eventually wandered, leaving a trail of sloppy kisses along the line of his jaw.
“Your ears, your ridiculous fucking ears,” he whispered, nibbling at Merlin’s earlobe as he reached to untie his neck scarf.
Merlin jolted his hips, embarrassed by the effect that had on him.
“You know, I’m very grateful for this scarf,” Arthur said as he tossed it to the floor, “if I had to see your neck every day, I don’t think I could control myself.”
Merlin tried to conjure up a response along the lines of hating the scarf for the same reason, but once Arthur was sucking and biting at his neck, all attempts at speech were rendered impossible. He squeezed his thighs around Arthur’s body and pushed his hips downwards, grinding against an unmistakable hardness that told him that Arthur felt just as strongly as he did.
One of Arthur’s hands held Merlin’s face whilst the other reached lower to grab at his hip. With one swift movement, he pushed Merlin down onto the bed, his own body pressed against him. They both moaned. The hand on Merlin’s hip ventured beneath his shirt to feel the soft curve of his waist. Merlin had a similar idea, grabbing fistfuls of Arthur’s tunic, craving what was beneath it. Arthur joined him in his quest to remove the garment, which was successfully thrown across the floor before Merlin had a chance to take a breath. Of course, Merlin saw Arthur’s body every day, but never like this; he was always cautious not to let his eyes wander or fingers linger. Now, he mapped the contours of muscles and stroked chest hair with reckless abandon.
“Your turn,” Arthur said gently, reaching for the hem of his shirt.
As Merlin had never thought that his fantasies would actually happen, he hadn’t devoted a great deal of his imagination to addressing the fact that Arthur had never seen him shirtless and would possibly have some questions that he was not prepared to answer (mainly pertaining to deadly serket stings and lighting blasts to the chest). Also, a smaller, slightly more deranged part of his mind worried that Arthur would suddenly remember that Merlin was, in fact, not a woman and panic. He hesitantly removed his shirt and looked up nervously.
Arthur smiled and traced his fingers along Merlin’s collarbone and then down his chest, surprised to find ridges and ripples of raised pink flesh amongst the otherwise soft skin. “How did you get all these scars?” he asked in a low voice. His eyes narrowed, as if ready to avenge anyone who had ever laid a finger on his precious manservant with the pain of death.
“It’s a long story, a series of long stories. I’ll tell you one day, but not right now,” Merlin rasped.
Arthur considered this for a moment. “That’s alright,” he placed a tender kiss to the centre of his chest. “I want to know everything there is to know about you, but there are a few questions that are more pressing on my mind,” he murmured.
"Like what?"
His eyes darkened, "Like how big your dick is, what those pretty lips feel like wrapped around me, the sounds you make when you come."
Merlin gladly supplied the answers.
When Merlin was young, he and Will would steal mulberries from the tree in his neighbour’s yard. It was the risk that made it so thrilling – the sweetness of suspense. The knowledge that he could be caught, that a fence could be erected to keep him away (as it eventually was). Being with Arthur was like that. Any moment now, he would be found out. His secrets and lies would come dripping from his greedy mouth and he would be forced to face the consequences. But for now, he wanted to devour Arthur for all he was worth, gorge himself while he had the chance.
Afterwards, Merlin draped himself half over Arthur's body, panting into the crook of his neck. “You’re perfect, utterly perfect,” he babbled, inhaling the salty scent of sweat and the faint metallic sweetness of chainmail. The veins in Arthur’s neck throbbed as his heartbeat languidly returned to a normal pace. Merlin sucked at the golden skin, pulling it between his teeth.
“Merlin,” he groaned, swatting him away.
“I want to leave a mark,” he whispered into Arthur’s mouth before pecking at his lips. “I want everyone at court to see it and know that it was me.”
“What are you, my concubine?” Arthur laughed. He swept his fingers through Merlin’s hair as he nestled against Arthur’s shoulder.
“Depends, does that come with a pay rise?”
“Oh god,” Arthur pressed a hand to his forehead. “You can hardly be my servant now, can you?”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s– it’s not proper. I can’t take you into my bed and then order you to wash the sheets.”
“If I knew that sucking your cock was all it would take for me to get out of work, I would’ve done it years ago,” Merlin tilted his head to look up at him with a mischievous grin. Arthur chuckled, the rapid rise and fall of his chest vibrating through Merlin’s skull. “But honestly, I’m happy to be your servant. I like serving you.”
“No, you deserve better.”
“But then I won’t get to undress you every night,” he sulked mockingly.
“Well, I never said that,” Arthur purred, pulling him in for a tender kiss. “I’m serious, I’ll figure something out,” he said, pressing their foreheads together. “I’ll give you a position in court, I’m not sure what.”
“Oh, I can think of a few positions we could try,” Merlin insinuated.
Arthur’s deep laugh was soon swallowed by Merlin’s lips. He pounced on Arthur’s chest, pushing his tongue deep into his mouth whilst his hands groped eagerly at his abdomen.
Arthur pulled away for air and stared at him in disbelief. “I never imagined you’d be like this.”
“Like what?”
“So… slutty.”
“How dare you!” Merlin laughed. He slapped Arthur’s breastbone playfully and lay down beside him.
"Honestly, I half-thought that you were a virgin,” Arthur rolled on his side to face him.
“Do you have that little faith in me?” he feigned offence.
“I don’t know, you’ve never been married.”
Merlin couldn’t help but laugh. Clearly, Arthur had been scarred by the countless lectures from his father about the dangers of producing bastard heirs. Which was ironic not only because of Uther’s hypocrisy and Merlin himself being born out of wedlock, but also due to the fact that the whole ‘producing bastards’ thing wasn’t exactly a concern of his. “Gods, you really are an idiot.”
Arthur’s eyes narrowed in confusion for a moment, before gaping wide open. “Have you… only been with men?”
“Yeah,” he replied casually, “I’ve tried kissing girls before, but I suppose I’ve always been more interested in men. Well, one man in particular,” he stroked Arthur’s hair.
“Oh.” He seemed surprisingly perplexed by this for someone who had bedded another man mere minutes ago. “When did you know?”
“About you or in general?”
“Both, I suppose.”
“I’ve known I like men since I was 15 or so. You remember Will, from Ealdor?”
Arthur looked as if he had just confessed to being a sorcerer. “No,” he gasped.
“Yeah,” Merlin giggled.
“Is that why he hated me so much? He was jealous.”
“No, you were just a prat. And why would he be jealous of you? We weren't... anything," Merlin pondered.
Arthur only shrugged.
"You're right though, he definitely thought that we were." Maybe there really had been something between him and Arthur, even then. "Anyway, it wasn't anything serious with Will, just a few… fumbles in the woods. But then my mum found out. She won’t admit it, but that’s half the reason she sent me here, to keep me away from boys like that. Little did she know that some blond arrogant prince would ask me to walk on my knees and my fate would be sealed,” he smirked.
Arthur bashfully turned his head to half-bury it in the pillow and smiled. It was the kind of open-mouthed, chin-dimpled smile that Merlin had once interpreted as cocky but had since learned was more akin to flustered. The same smile as on that aforementioned very first day.
“So, to answer your other question,” Merlin said, brushing his hand down Arthur’s arm, “that’s when I knew, the moment I met you.”
“Bullshit.”
“Well, I knew I was attracted to you at least. I didn’t fall in love with you until you picked the mortaeus flower for me. You were willing to disobey your father, risk your life to save mine. It was so noble.” He said the last word in a deep voice, bordering on a moan.
“You make that seem sexy,” Arthur teased.
“It is,” Merlin’s hand reached lower to Arthur’s hipbone. “So, what about–”
“You’re in love with me?” Arthur interjected.
“Um… yes?” Merlin laughed, “I thought that was fairly obvious.”
“Well, you hadn’t actually said it,” he muttered, almost embarrassed.
Merlin lifted his head off the pillow and leant into Arthur’s ear to whisper, “I love you.” He rolled Arthur onto his back and repeated to his other ear, “I love you.” Then, staring directly into his eyes, he declared quite loudly, “Arthur Pendragon, I am desperately, hopelessly, in love with you.”
Arthur instantly hooked his hand around Merlin’s neck and pulled their smiling mouths together. “I love you too,” he said into his mouth between kisses, “God, I love you so much.” He knew how to use his words when it mattered.
It was bizarre how natural it felt to kiss Arthur. An hour ago, Merlin would have hesitated to touch his arm, but whatever barriers had existed between them had disintegrated from the moment their lips first met.
Well, maybe not all barriers. Merlin had been trying his best to ignore it, to run from the inevitable, but Arthur was doing an excellent job of breaking down his defences. His heart was one thing, his body another, but his magic: that was everything. Arthur’s words of “I want to know everything there is to know about you,” joined in a cacophony of “Those that practice magic are evil and dangerous,” “You cannot trust a single word a sorcerer says,” and “How can I love someone who’s betrayed me,” echoing incessantly in his mind. No. Not now, Merlin shouted at himself. Please. Let me enjoy this just for one moment. He forced himself back to the present.
Merlin pulled away and propped himself up on his elbow by Arthur’s side. “As I was saying before you so rudely interrupted: what about you, when did you know?”
Arthur stared at him for a moment, contemplating his answer. “I only really accepted it very recently, in the past few months. But looking back, I think it’s always been there, from the beginning. I said it then, there was ‘something about you,’ I just didn’t know what it was. Mind you, I’m still not sure if I do.” He absentmindedly traced up and down Merlin’s shoulder blade with the tips of his fingers.
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t know, you’ve always intrigued me. You’re so unpredictable, unlike anyone I’ve ever met, I suppose that’s what drew me to you. You’re a real mystery, Merlin.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be, I like a challenge. And I meant it, you know, I want to know everything about you. I’ll make it my life’s quest,” he cradled the back of Merlin’s head.
Merlin rolled his eyes, “Not everything is a quest. I’m not some foreign land to be conquered.”
“Hmm, I rather like the thought of conquering you,” Arthur growled. He rolled Merlin on to his back, thrusting his hips into him to make his meaning clear.
“I hate you,” Merlin laughed. His hands pressed against Arthur’s shoulders, he had intended to push him away, but it came across as more of a gentle embrace.
“You just said that you love me,” Arthur pouted.
“Yeah well, love and hate are two sides of the same coin,” he protested. Two sides of the same coin, his mind repeated. Merlin and Arthur, love and hate. If Merlin was love, what did that make Arthur?
“Besides, maybe conquer isn’t the right word,” Arthur said, “I would never want to conquer a peaceful kingdom that has done me no harm. Explore! I’d want to explore it.” He shifted to the side and dragged his hand down Merlin’s body, roaming from the ridge of his collarbone, traversing the valleys between ribs to reach the peak of his hip, the flat plain of his thigh.
Merlin cuffed his hand around Arthur’s wrist, halting his journey. “But what if this kingdom has caused you harm? Not intentionally, they tried to protect you, they waged wars to keep you safe. But what if things went wrong? They made other enemies trying to keep you as an ally.”
Arthur looked at him for a moment, his face adopting a well-rehearsed diplomatic indifference. “If their intentions are pure, I have no qualms. And if they have made sacrifices on my behalf, I am all the more in debt to them.” He freed his arm from Merlin’s grip to intertwine their hands.
Merlin could feel his barricades collapsing. “But this kingdom is not what meets the eye. There are secret passages, treacherous caves, monsters lurking in the dark.”
Arthur pulled Merlin’s hand towards him to place a tender kiss to the back of it. “I will defeat the monsters,” he said in a voice so gentle that it made Merlin fall apart.
“You can’t, they live here,” his voice trembled.
“Then I will make peace with them. God knows Camelot has monsters of its own.”
Curse this man, Merlin thought, he’s too easy to love. “Okay, but this kingdom, it– There are…” Merlin wasn’t great with metaphors, “I have magic.”
Arthur’s face dropped. He let go of his hand. He broke eye contact for what Merlin realised was the first time in a long while. Staring down, his eyebrows grew closer together as his lips grew further apart. “Well then,” Arthur sighed. He slid out of the bed and walked towards the other end of his room.
He’s getting his sword, he’s going to kill me. Merlin wasn’t particularly scared by this thought, it came to him with a solemn acceptance. If anything, having his throat slit while laying naked in the king’s bed was a great way to go.
Instead, Arthur opened the cupboard near the dining table and retrieved a bottle of wine. He sauntered back towards him, a smirk twitching at the corners of his mouth, as if he was impressed by his own wit. He draped himself beside Merlin, pulling the covers over both of them.
“I think we’re going to need this,” he handed Merlin the bottle, “because you and I have a hell of a treaty negotiation to get through.”