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Merlin might have been quicker about his chores if he didn’t find the crown prince’s royal arse so distracting. It’s not like he could even ignore it, really, as Arthur was parading around the chamber completely starkers.
”Merlin!” the nude prince barked, nearly startling Merlin into dropping whatever it was he was holding (alright, so he was really distracted).
“Er…sorry, what were you saying?”
Arthur gave one of his ‘why-do-I-put-up-with-you’ sighs and said, “Kindly stop fondling that goblet and try actually performing your duties for once! You might find you actually enjoy doing so.”
Ah. So he was holding a goblet. Placing it back on the table and faking a cough in an attempt to ignore the vaguely phallic-shaped object and just what he had been unconsciously doing to it, Merlin retorted, “I would love to help you out, Sire, if only I knew what exactly it was you were doing.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, obviously I’m-” Here the prince paused, standing beside the bed frowning down at the pillow in his hand as if it were responsible for his forgetfulness. However, Arthur was too proud to admit fault in such a matter, and he merely continued, “Obviously I’m the crown prince and do not have to explain myself to the likes of you.”
“Well, perhaps you were looking for your clothing,” Merlin suggested, perhaps a shade too desperately, for the confused scowl on Arthur’s face shifted suddenly into a smug grin, and he leaned back against his bedpost, probably because he knew that doing so put his gorgeously tanned body on better display, the bastard.
“Is my lack of attire distressing you, Merlin?” he taunted, canting his hips with an astonishing lack of modesty.
“Distressing me, no. Distracting me, yes,” Merlin mumbled, louder than he’d intended, and immediately his face lit up in a blush intense enough that he felt the heat to the tips of his ears.
There was silence for a long, long moment, long enough that Merlin was already planning out an escape route in his head. He was just pondering how he could simultaneously run as far away from Camelot as possible while still protecting Arthur and fulfilling his destiny (exactly how difficult was it to grow wings, he should ask Gaius) when something soft hit him square in the face. Spluttering, he grabbed the pillow and glared at Arthur, previous thoughts of fleeing forgotten. “What was that for?!” he asked indignantly.
Arthur was just pulling a shirt over his head, having already tugged on a pair of breeches, and Merlin mourned the loss of all that glorious golden skin without even a hint of shame. Then he realized that Arthur was talking and made an effort to actually listen. “-won’t do themselves, Merlin,” Arthur was saying, walking over to sit at his desk and plucking a scroll from the pile seemingly at random. “Though it really isn’t my problem if you find my state of dressdistracting. I’m not going to start wearing more clothing in my own chambers simply because it distracts you from your duties.”
Merlin opened his mouth to protest. Then he saw Arthur’s shy half-smile, and decided against it.
He wouldn’t actually mind if Arthur decided to distract him more often.