Chapter Text
Life in Camelot was not too shabby for Merlin lately. He was a powerful warlock and dragonlord (which was great besides the whole illegal thing). He had successfully evaded taxes for the last few years. And his job was to rile Arthur up everyday until he got that one sexy stern look from him. Other than the crushing weight of his destiny, the life-altering secrets that Merlin would die to keep, and constant threats to the crown, he was having a great time.
And when things weren’t great? Well, at least he had Arthur to piss off.
“There is absolutely no way that Merlin has better game than me,” Arthur insisted while all the knights (and Merlin) gathered around the fire.
They were on another trip to defeat some beast and were set to return to Camelot the next morning. As usual, they made the most of their night, with tankards of ale that were just starting to hit.
Gwaine laughed. “Can’t take the truth, princess? Any of us have better game than you with men and women alike.”
Arthur flushed, furious. “I am the King of Camelot.”
“I guess that’s proof that being born rich doesn’t guarantee that you’ll be charismatic,” Merlin joked. The look on Arthur’s face was worth being sent to the stocks or being forced to muck out stables.
“Leon, tell me, do you think I have no game?”
Leon stared at the fire, uncomfortable. “Not no game, sire. You’ve wooed many in the past.”
“See! Wooed! Many!”
“But…” Leon began.
Arthur’s eyes widened. “But?” He said dangerously.
“But you are a bit oblivious.”
Arthur turned to the rest of the knights, his men in arms, brothers who he’d lay his life for without a thought. None of them looked him in the eye.
“Merlin, you’re legally required to say that I have game.”
Gwaine snorted. “Just like he’s legally required to pay taxes?”
Merlin knocked his elbow into Gwaine’s side until he wheezed.
“What was that?” Arthur asked.
“Nothing,” Merlin said.
“Then say it.” Arthur smiled, a challenge in his eyes.
Merlin leaned in, staring at the way the flames cast a flickering gold light over Arthur’s skin.
A smile tugged Merlin’s lips. “I would give my life for you, Arthur Pendragon. I would drink poison for you everyday. I would traverse countries and sail the seven seas to stay by your side. You are the first person I think of in the morning and the last person I think of at night.” He dared to get closer to Arthur, their breaths mingling.
Arthur’s eyes were lidded and his gaze entranced. He leaned forward ever so slightly. The knights had fallen silent around them. There was nothing but the music of their breaths, the crickets chirping, and the fire crackling, warm and toasty, just like the heat that was building between them.
“But I would never, ever say that you have more game than me,” Merlin finished, leaning backwards with a shit-eating grin.
Arthur stared at him for another moment, his cheeks colored.
Gwaine fanned himself. “You almost had me there, Merlin.”
The knights nodded and murmured about Merlin’s charming intensity and mesmerizing eyes and mysterious smile.
“Shut up!” Arthur clenched his jaw, and Merlin was delighted that he was the one to make it happen. “I can prove that I have more game than Merlin.”
“What, you’re going to romance him back?” Gwaine asked. “Good luck with that, mate, I’ve been trying.”
Arthur scowled. “Of course not.”
“Yeah,” Gwaine nodded, looking shockingly sober after many an ale, “as if you could.”
The rest of the knights seemed to agree with him.
“Maybe set your sights on someone more realistic,” Leon suggested. “There was that princess who visited last month who was all over you.”
“It’ll be alright, your majesty,” another knight said. “Having game isn’t everything. We can’t all be like Merlin.”
Merlin couldn’t help but smile at the ego boost he was getting from the knights. He wasn’t sure if they were serious or they, like him, enjoyed pissing off their king.
“Fine,” Arthur snapped. “Challenge accepted. I will romance Merlin. By the end of the month, you–” He locked eyes with Merlin “–will be nothing more than putty in my hands.”
The knights, feeling the effects of the ale, cheered and made slurred speeches of devotion to the king. Merlin had seen Arthur’s fierce determination come out when he was fighting and when he was protecting his kingdom. It was new to have that directed at himself.
Merlin swallowed roughly and toasted Arthur. “Good luck,” he echoed Gwaine. “You’ll need it.”
What he didn’t say to Arthur (because of course he’d never admit it) was that he was already putty in his hands. That was just another secret Merlin planned to take to his grave.