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Apparently changing from a boy into a girl did atrocious things to one’s sense of balance and orientation, because why the fucking hell would Merlin be suddenly clutching at his forearms, hands gripping onto him like a vice, like—oh, Arthur, don’t say it, don’t don’t don’t say—
“You’re such a damsel in distress, it’s impossible,” Arthur says, utterly flabbergasted, after a moment. His sense of self-preservation has apparently fucked off entirely, because he just can’t stop his mouth from speaking without his consent. And stretching into an amused, wide grin. Some part hoped he’d be turned into frog instead of a snail, but when Merlin wobbled dangerously on her feet and the tunic slid sideways off her shoulder just so, exposing the curve of her shoulder and the sharp cut of a collarbone, he found he didn’t care at all. “Really Merlin, even if the servant act didn’t work out, you didn’t have to go get yourself turned into a girl just so I’d notice you.”
Merlin’s wide-eyed stare rests on his face just as he—she—snaps her face up to Arthur’s, and for a horrifying moment, Arthur expects her eyes to turn golden. He does wince after that, but he doesn’t wince from any potential imminent familiarisation with the world of amphibians.
“Arthur!” Merlin shrieks, shrieks right into his ear with that high-pitched voice, and oh bugger if that was how Merlin sounded like even remotely when his voice broke in puberty, Arthur is never going to let him live that down. After shrieking his name, Merlin freezes and stares at him with eyes as wide as saucers. Arthur watches in interest as a slender hand comes up her chest and Merlin clutches at her throat with spindly, long fingers. Then, staring some more, she suddenly shoves Arthur back and tumbles a few steps backwards, losing her balance and falling flat on her arse. Before Arthur can do so much as roll his eyes at the familiar display of utter uselessness and go to help her, he stops dead in his tracks as Merlin shoves a hand down her breeches.
There is silence. Arthur stands, frozen, eyes remorselessly glued to Merlin having a hand down her breeches. Then, before he can react—covering his ears would probably be a good plan—Merlin has already emitted a sound familiar to that of a wounded animal and opened her mouth.
To shriek some more. Loudly. Harshly. Terrifyingly.
“Oh fuck, oh shit, where’s my—where’s my penis?!” Looking utterly undignified, Merlin moves her hand around the baggy breeches as though she’d hope to find her previous appendage popping back just like that. Then, a horrifying moment later, Arthur can only watch speechlessly as Merlin’s head moves downward as if in slow-motion, her hand tugging at the tunic to have a glance at what’s inside.
Arthur’s never before wanted to exchange his position with Merlin’s. He considers the merits of this now.
Merlin moves her mouth soundlessly before letting her hand fall uselessly onto the ground. Sometime later she manages a garbled “Breasts,” and falls silent.
Arthur’s mouth wants to twitch into a smile, and he allows himself a slow, crooked one, hoping he doesn’t come off as entirely creepy. He kneels before Merlin and once more disregards the chance of being turned into a toad—though she’d probably go for a cockroach now—and smirks at the blank expression on Merlin’s face.
“Merlin, I know I’m stunning, no need to be awed into silence by that. However, I have to say, you may not be entirely useless,” he murmurs, mouth twitching into a slow, crooked smile as his eyes wander downwards. “I think I can find a thing or two to do with that, don’t you think?”
He probably should have expected the golden eyes this time, but he swore it was Merlin’s shrieking voice making him deaf and thereby careless—and therefore the only cause he spent two hours of his life as royal dung beetle.