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There are things between them that they never mention or bring up.
They don’t talk about the time when it was just the two of them alone in Arthur’s chambers late one night.
How the room was illuminated by candle light as Merlin mulled around doing small chores - picking up laundry, turning down the bed, tidying up and such - and Arthur watched him potter about from the corner of his eyes whilst he was meant to be reading over reports.
Merlin never told Arthur that he could feel the Prince’s constant heavy gaze on him.
And Arthur never told Merlin why he stood up and silently strode to where Merlin was standing at the foot of the bed beside the bedpost, easily invading the servant’s personal space and causing the raven haired man to back up until he was entirely pressed closely against the bedpost.
Neither of them ever said when they first began looking at the other in such a way.
Merlin never explained Arthur why he let the Prince be so close, why he let Arthur hold his face so gently, and why he returned the kiss he was given.
And Arthur never explained to Merlin why he kissed him, why his breath shuddered so suddenly when Merlin’s hands traced the skin under his shirt, and why he so easily agreed to Merlin taking off said shirt and then pushing him onto the bed.
They never spoke of it: how quickly both their clothes were shed and their hands roamed across each other’s bodies, how each man drove to extract the others pleasure before his own, and how simple it was to be together in such a way that they had never dared breach before.
But they had, they had crossed a line that changed everything. A line that neither brought to attention because it meant that they would have to talk - and they both hated talking.
It was why when at the peak of their lust driven highs and Arthur saw Merlin’s eyes light up in gold that would outshine any treasury, he never voiced how afraid he was when Merlin realised that Arthur had seen his eyes in such an open way and quickly withdrew from Arthur’s hold and arms and touch. He wasn’t afraid because of fear of Merlin but instead how scared his heart instantly raced at the thought of losing him.
It was a mutual understanding, a silent and unspoken agreement, when Arthur slowly reached for Merlin and pulled him back in close. It was an agreement firmly bound in their embrace as Arthur held Merlin and silently swore that he would lay down his life for this man.
The following morning, waking up in each other’s arms, they said nothing. Only sharing a look of understanding and relief and care.
It became an unspoken rule between them, only discussed with their eyes in empty rooms - too afraid to utter the words of truth and shatter their fragile and precious secret. For the first time in all their years of friendship - they truly were equals with everything laid out of the table. But only in silence.
So they kept their secret in silence. They pretended in front of everyone that they were just Prince and Manservant - obvious best friends but kept quiet so that the King wouldn’t find out - that there was nothing more to them than what appeared at the surface.
But gods, there was so much more below the surface and behind closed doors. Nobody was aware of what Merlin and Arthur were like together when there weren't eyes on them. They never once witnessed Arthur leaning into Merlin’s touch in the mornings and evening as Merlin helped the Prince dress. Nor did they ever hear all of the things Merlin would endlessly whisper to Arthur.
Nobody was aware because they didn’t talk about it.
It was in Arthur’s chambers that the Prince would help patch up the warlock after a bad night so as to not worry Gaius. Arthur would wrap Merlin’s wounds whilst gently telling the reckless man off, knowing that this would keep happening time and time again. The Prince would press little kisses around the scars and Merlin would feel his heart ache knowing that he was hurting Arthur by running head first into trouble - but it would rip and tear and bleed much more if he didn’t.
It was in Merlin’s room that the warlock would hold the Prince after arguments with the King and console any worry or fear that Arthur would croak out. They would sit on Merlin’s bed, Arthur lying on Merlin’s chest as Merlin would run his hand through Arthur’s hair. They would whisper things to each other that meant nothing but everything. Arthur would find solace and peace in any breath Merlin would give him, and Merlin would find the strength to fight another day with each new burst of confidence that he would see in Arthur.
It was in the forests under the guise of hunts and on quests that they would escape the castle life together. They both shed their perfected ability to carefully hide in plain sight the moment the castle turrets weren’t in view. It was in the small moments when no one recognised their faces or were familiar with only their names that they were free.
It was in a clearing deep in the woods where Merlin performed his first intentional act of magic and Arthur couldn’t keep his eyes off the warlock. And it was moments later that stood against a tree, breathless and with bruised lips. Merlin had cocked an eyebrow at Arthur with a smirk, Arthur then rolled his eyes and scoffed.
It was on a quest, returning home, that they were attacked by clueless bandits. And, for the first time, they fought together side by side. In only a matter of moments their adversaries were strewn across the floor and the two of them looked at each other in shock which quickly dissolved into pride at what they were capable of together.
Time passed and they grew together. They didn’t talk about any of it. It was theirs and theirs alone. What they did during quiet nights by candle or star light was theirs to know and others to stay out of.
It did hurt: never giving confirmation as to what they were; never voicing the words that lay on the tips of their tongues aloud; never knowing which way was the right way and only having each other to place their faith and trust in.
In the quiet nights beneath Arthur’s bedsheets, bare and sated, neither man dared say what he truly wanted to because it would mean so much. It wasn’t a life or death situation that meant that anything could be said and then thrown away later - this was them, quiet and calm and close and meaningful and sweet. Anything said was instantly burned into their mind and anything done seared into their eyes for their dreams to indulge in. Between them, on their own and wordlessly giving their hearts to each other without thought: neither could say what they meant.
Merlin wanted to tell Arthur how much he loved him. How any scar on his body was worth seeing the Prince smile the next day. How his magic was for Arthur, how any act of magic he did was inspired by the man. How he believed in Arthur and everything that he was capable of. How he was utterly devoted beyond belief to him.
Arthur wanted to tell Merlin how much he loved him. How he would fight a thousand battles to keep him safe. How he would always be there no matter what, no matter how bad it was or could be. How it was Merlin who pushed him to be a better man, Prince and soon King. How he was utterly devoted beyond faith to him.
There was so much they couldn't say. Not yet. Not when every action was performed with a feared glance cast over the shoulder. Not when one wrong pair of eyes seeing at the wrong moment could shatter their very fragile situation. Not when both are trapped by a rule that is slowly suffocating them both.
Arthur would see Merlin force himself to watch at burnings and beheadings, and have to physically restrain himself from tearing the warlock away. Arthur would hate that he was helpless in the little he could do. He would have to hide his twitching hands that wanted to reach for Merlin in court or in public.
And in the nights that Merlin wasn’t in their bed, that they were separated by emergency or being caught out by others. Arthur would lie awake in either fear of if he would see Merlin when morning would next come or guilt that he was chaining Merlin to himself. It was a constant thought that plagued him: that he was too selfish when it concerned Merlin, he would never be able to let go of Merlin.
Arthur hated how it felt like he was drowning, and how it felt as if he was selfishly dragging Merlin down with him. He hated that he knew that he should make Merlin leave Camelot, how it would be safer if he was gone and waited for Arthur to gain the throne - only returning once it was safe for them both.
Yet it seemed that even as Arthur’s arms wrapped around Merlin and they were both subsequently dragged further from the surface, Arthur wasn’t the only one desperately clinging on.
To Merlin, it didn’t matter what his standing or title was, he would be there at Arthur’s side. All it took was one indulging taste and he was steadily addicted to the man. But even in the beginning, he didn’t need a taste, he just needed the vague promise. It was more than suitable when he was given more than a vague promise - because though they didn’t say it, Merlin knew with such strong certainty what was being cemented in history.
Merlin didn’t need history to remember him, he just needed Arthur to remember him, to keep him close. The warlock wouldn’t even listen if he was told to leave, he would ignore the order and stubbornly remain.
He would see countless horrors as long as Arthur was there to go back to. He would face hell and highwaters just to be able to sink beneath white sheets and red blankets and be surrounded by Arthur’s arms and body.
They didn’t speak about any of it. Their eyes told enough. What they had was enough. Whatever it is that they have exactly. All it took was a glance, a specific pinpointed tell in the eyes and they would know. They would understand what the night had to bring; what was expected of them in battle; how their day had fared.
Their eyes were honest. Their hands. Their lips. Their bodies.
But not their words, nor mouths, nor ears. Anything verbal was pointless because their actions to each other alone betrayed any lie they said in front of unwanted ears.
So they didn’t talk about any of it. For years, they remained secret, becoming experts in lying to everyone and themselves. Being brash and loud in public whilst being gentle and quiet in private.
And then it all changed.
It was late one night, and Merlin was hurrying to Arthur’s chambers. The newly crowned King’s chambers. In all their years together, through the chaos and fighting and discussions, in the rare and quiet moments of peace a tradition formed. A tradition that Merlin was late for.
He opened the door, rather loudly as was normal, and slipped inside. Arthur looked over his shoulder from his place by the fire at his chair. He gave Merlin his signature smile with a fondly raised eyebrow, and then as Merlin drew closer the King’s eyes changed. Shifting into the look that Merlin knew well.
Arthur rose from his chair and met Merlin half way. The fire crackled and the rain of the night tapped against the window panes.
“ Mer lin.” Arthur whispered, coming close into Merlin’s space - it was always welcome - and carefully pressing a kiss to Merlin’s lips.
Out of habit or reflex or simple instinct, Merlin’s hands found themselves wrapped around Arthur’s waist, pulling the new King in closer. Merlin felt Arthur’s lips graze against his own as he whispered in reply, “ Ar thur.”
Arthur’s hands ran up and down Merlin's arms before settling below Merlin’s shoulders, not once pulling away - the thought didn’t even cross his mind. “I’m King now,” Their foreheads rested against each other, eyes closed. “Have been for a few days.”
“Hm, really?” Merlin hummed teasingly. “Must’ve not caught my attention.” Merlin’s hands slid around Arthur’s waist and up the span of Arthur’s back. “You are King.” His head tilted to the side and he pressed his own kiss to slope in Arthur’s neck and shoulder. “ My King.”
“Yes.” Arthur breathed out. The King’s hand drifted to the base of Merlin’s head, fingers drifting through the warlock’s short hair. “There are things, Merlin, that I have wanted for years but never dared ask for.”
Merlin’s eyes flew open but he remained still.
“But I am King, and I can ask for those things.” Arthur continued. “I want to ask for those things.”
Merlin retracted from Arthur’s hold only to rearrange himself, cupping Arthur’s jaw and looking closely for any flicker of anything. All he found was Arthur’s wanting, asking, begging eyes.
“Please, please , ask for them.” He begged back.
“I want to talk. About everything. I don’t want to hold my tongue anymore.” Arthur hung onto every elicited reaction his words brought from Merlin. “I want to tell you things and have you understand exactly what I mean. I want to tell you exactly what I think of you…” He faltered for only a moment, forgetting that this is Merlin who had been here through everything and deserved the truth Arthur was so desperate to share. “What I- What I feel for you. And I… There is more I want to ask of you, but you have already done so much, I want you to rest, I want you to take a break and let me care for you.”
Merlin saw exactly what Arthur was asking, or - at least - was trying to ask.
“I want that.” Merlin stroked his thumbs across Arthur’s cheeks.
In their honesty, Merlin grew bold, empowered by how Arthur was looking at him.
“If you won’t ask, then I will.” Merlin saw how Arthur’s eyes widened in a mix of fear and relief. “I don’t want to hide anymore.” Relief and elation. “I don’t want to continue lying to Gaius about where I am most nights. I want to wake up each morning beside you. I want to fall asleep with you.” Both their eyes began to water. “I want every damn person to know exactly what I feel for you…”
There he had done it, he had laid out plain and clear what he intended and felt. He couldn’t and wouldn’t dream of taking any of it back, he wouldn’t even if forced. And none of it was unrequited - of course it wasn’t, who were they fooling but instead fueling their own irrational fears?
There was nowhere but up.
“And I also want them all to know what I have done for you.” Whoever ‘they’ were, Merlin hated - he wanted every damn one of them to understand just what he has had to do because of them. He wanted to speak the truth without fear, he wanted to stand at Arthur’s side and have no one argue or try to dissuade either of them.
Arthur felt the same, he had for years.
“Top left drawer.” The King said firmly.
“What?” Merlin said in confusion.
“There’s a stack of parchment in the top left drawer of my desk, get it. With magic.” He quickly added on at the end when Merlin began to turn out of his arms.
Merlin frowned and his eyes lit up, in the same constant and continuous way that never failed to leave Arthur breathless. The warlock held the stack of parchment between them, his eyes briefly scanning over the short
“What… What is this?” Merlin asked, slowly looking back to Arthur.
Arthur held Merlin’s wrists in his hands, nervously tracing the tips of his fingers over Merlin's pulse.
“The magic repeal.” His eyes never left Merlin’s. “I’ve been working on it since our first night together.”
Merlin’s mouth dropped open in shock. Years, Arthur had been silently working on this. Years.
“You’re free, Merlin,” Arthur smiled at him. “You’re free to do whatever you want.”
Merlin let go of the Magic Repeal, his eyes bursting into gold as the stack flew back to its place in the desk.
“I want you.” Merlin said as he grabbed the front of Arthur’s tunic and began to lead the King back to their bed.
“Really?” Arthur said in such surprise, Merlin would’ve smacked him up the back of the head for saying something so ridiculous if he weren’t so preoccupied with the King’s lips.
“Yes.”