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“I need a favour.”
Merlin glanced out at Arthur from inside his cupboard, where he was hanging—or rather, shoving—Arthur’s tunics. “Really? Another one? Do I not do enough for you already?”
“Shut up, Merlin.” Arthur took a breath. “I need you to kiss me.”
Merlin stared. He’d misheard. “You—what?”
“Don’t make it weird, Merlin.”
“You need me to—what—why?!”
Arthur huffed and turned away. “My father has arranged for me to marry Princess Vivian. I’ve tried to tell him I’m—you know—”
“A git?”
“—Gay, and that I won’t marry someone I don’t even like let alone have any sort of romantic attachment to. But, well—you know how he is. He doesn’t listen. So, I thought… perhaps he could use… further convincing. Of a more… visual sort.”
Merlin stared at him some more.
“If he saw me kissing a man, he’d hardly be able to deny my—” Arthur waved vaguely at himself. “Well, in any case, it might put Vivian off.”
“Are you trying to get me killed?! He’ll chop my head off!”
Arthur rolled his eyes. “Don’t be so dramatic, Merlin. I’d never let him. I need your head far too much.” Merlin’s wide-eyed horror twisted instantly into a filthy grin and Arthur quickly carried on, “If you were headless, you wouldn’t be able to polish my armour, mend my clothes, sharpen my sword—”
“Yeah, yeah, okay,” Merlin sighed. “But why me?! Get Gwaine or Lancelot to do it! I’m sure they’d be thrilled.”
Arthur ticked reasons off on his fingers. “One: you’re a servant, so all the better for provoking my father. Two: you’re my servant, so you have to do as I say. And three: I don’t trust either of them not to fall in love with me.”
Merlin scoffed. “I’m glad you at least know I wouldn’t be so easily charmed. Although I fail to see either of them falling for a man with such an obnoxiously large head.”
Arthur scowled. Merlin considered him, then added. “Well, what if you accidentally fall in love with me?”
Arthur shot him a look that suggested Merlin should be offended. “Not likely.”
Merlin shut the cupboard. To even entertain the idea was ludicrous, and yet Merlin found himself, with a mouth evidently controlled by the lunatic side of his brain, saying, “Do you really think it would make Uther call off the engagement?”
“Of course it will,” Arthur said, as if the answer were obvious. “My father might be able to ignore reason, but he can’t ignore his only son snogging his manservant for all to see.”
Arthur eyed Merlin, catching the look of resignation that shone like a beacon on a moonless night. “You’ll help me?”
Merlin sighed again. If there were ever a time he needed to learn to say no to this man, it was now.
He nodded.
Merlin licked his lips. “So… how are we going to do this?”
He and Arthur stood in an alcove outside the council chambers. Arthur had suggested doing the deed—so to speak—in the middle of the hallway for maximum visibility, to ensure, beyond any doubt, that they would be caught. Merlin, however, being the brains of the operation, argued that in no realm would Arthur ever realistically want to be caught mid lip-lock by his father, and thus, believability trumped visibility.
So now they stood facing one another in the little alcove, closer than they had ever allowed themselves to stand outside necessity. Merlin felt distinctly hyperaware of Arthur’s every movement: the part of his lips as he breathed, the tiny shuffle that brought their bodies closer again, the bob in his throat as he swallowed.
“The council meeting will be over shortly, so when we hear footsteps coming this way, then we’ll—we’ll—” Arthur’s throat bobbed again. “That’s when we’ll begin.”
“Maybe we should practice first.” The words were out of Merlin’s mouth before he could rethink them or bite them back.
Arthur looked at him.
“Well, it’s got to look natural, doesn’t it?” Merlin said quickly. “I can’t have you fumbling around like you don’t know what you’re doing.”
“Me?! I’ll have you know, I am an excellent kisser.”
“Mm. Based on whose feedback? Your pillow’s?”
Arthur scoffed, shaking his head. “If you need to practice, Merlin, we can practice. But let’s not pretend it’s me who needs the work.”
“Yeah, okay. Just don’t bite me.”
And then Arthur’s mouth was on his, warm and insistent. Merlin had to admit to himself, chagrined, that Arthur did not need the practice, not that he’d ever be forthcoming with this information. Heat spread from every brush of Arthur’s lips: down, down to flutter in his belly, down to facilitate the growing ache in his breeches, then further still, making his knees weak.
When they parted, Merlin fought to even his breathing. Arthur’s lips were kiss-pink and he looked very deliberately past Merlin’s head.
“That—er—that will work just fine.”
Merlin nodded.
Silence befell them. Arthur’s gaze finally met his, then dropped to his mouth. Seemingly without realising, Arthur’s tongue darted out to wet his lips.
“You think that will—will be believable, then?” Merlin asked.
Arthur’s eyes lingered a moment longer before he answered. “We could always— practice again. Just to be sure.”
Merlin nodded again. “That’s probably smart.”
“Well, not probably. I’d say it’s definitely smart.”
“How does it feel, this moment of intelligence? I know it’s a rarity for you.”
“Shut up, Merlin.”
Merlin was grinning when Arthur leaned in again.
The footsteps came when Merlin was pressed against the wall, one leg hooked around Arthur’s hip, Arthur’s hands under his tunic.
Arthur tore himself away with a gasp. “They’re coming—we should—”
“We already are!” Merlin hissed, and pulled him in again.
Merlin bit back a moan when Arthur licked into his mouth, the footsteps falling closer… closer… closer. It was probably considered unbecoming to moan in front of the king, never mind the fact that he already had his hands in Arthur’s hair and was unreservedly rubbing up against him.
Merlin cracked one eye open, just in time to watch the king walk resolutely past them with blissful ignorance.
“Um,” Merlin said against Arthur’s lips.
Arthur pulled back. “He walked past, didn’t he?”
“Yeah.”
Arthur leaned in to peck Merlin’s lips again. “We should—probably stop, then.”
“Yeah, probably.”
Some time later, they were interrupted by the pointed clearing of a throat.
Their mouths separated, though Merlin remained pinned against the wall, Arthur’s hands still braced under his thighs, legs wrapped securely around Arthur’s waist. They turned as one to look upon the intruder.
“It might be wise, Merlin,” Gaius said, one eyebrow arching in slow, devastating judgement, “to conduct your trysts in a more private setting in future.”
“Oh—no, we weren’t—I’m just helping Arthur with something,” Merlin said hastily.
The eyebrow rose, if possible, even higher.
“I see. Well, I daresay if you would like to keep your head on your shoulders, the next time you decide to engage in such spectacular foolishness, you will do so somewhere the king is less likely to stroll past.”
With that, he turned away, muttering something about “utter stupidity” and “inappropriate acrobatics”.
Merlin turned to look at Arthur, who wet his lips.
“My chambers?” Arthur suggested.
“Yeah. Alright.”